


The Thrift Store Tragedies

by Blue_Jay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Demon Blood Addiction, Detox, Disney World & Disneyland, Episode: s05e03 Free to Be You and Me, Episode: s09e02 Devil May Care, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Sam Winchester, Genderswap, Graduation, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, POV Multiple, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Self Confidence Issues, Sexual Violence, Soulless Sam Winchester, Trials of Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Jay/pseuds/Blue_Jay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For hunters, being a woman is seen as a weakness. Samantha figures out quickly how to make it a weapon instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thrift Store Tragedies

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Girl!Sam AU Meme](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/28397) by iwishicouldtitle.tumblr.com. 



> Based on a genderswap photo set (it's the 'inspired by' link) with Scarlett Johansson as girl!Sam.
> 
> Which means that, yes, she is rather on the smaller side.
> 
> Also, I'm saying this right now - the pre-Stanford part of this story focuses a lot on clothing, and the entire thing is very dark. And I get why they didn't do it in canon, but the Stanford thing is actually really realistic. Something similar happened to a coworker of mine (except without demons or anything, her boyfriend died during a break-in) during her final two weeks of her last semester uni and apparently the staff said this was okay.
> 
> Only goes too 9.02 because that was the last episode I watched.

When Sam was a kid, she dressed in Dean's hand-me-downs - a wardrobe of plaid shirts, canvas shoes that never fit, and boy jeans a little too big - and for a long time, she doesn't mind. Before the age of eight, she was too young and moved around too much to care about she wore and after, she was a hunter. Hunters don't have the luxury of caring because it isn't practical. And Sam has always been, if anything in particular, practical. 

But then there's this day when she's fifteen and it's ninety degrees outside in fucking Iowa and Dean's nursing a beer with some other hunter named Ron, who's not even tipsy yet, and the guy says, "Just, your sister, you know? John's really going to let her hunt?"

She's out of eyesight, pretty sure she wasn't supposed to have heard that, and scoots closer so she can hear more because this has to do with her and that's a good enough reason to eavesdrop. "What do you mean?" she hears Dean say. "Sammy's been hunting with us since she was twelve. Started helping with research when she was ten."

From this angle, she can clearly see both their faces and Ron's bangs swallow his eyebrows. "You're joking, right?" he says, and Sam wonders how many other hunters Dad's neglected to tell about her. "She's a  _chick._ "

"So?"

"Most women can't hunt half as good as us," the guy answers - says it like it's some sort of fact and Sam's not big into the whole hunting thing, but she finds herself incredibly offended anyway. "C'mon, it's not like anyone takes them seriously if they're doing interviews and they aren't half as good as us at the physical -"

Dean's already flopped back in his chair, arms crossed, with a glare forming on his face and she has the best damn brother in the world. He cuts in, "I fucking dare you to go against Sam for who has the better shot. Hell, even darts. I ain't saying all women should be in the business or anything, but don't underestimate my sister."

Sam walks away before she can hear the oncoming argument and for some reason the word  _underestimate_ gets stuck in her head.

 

 

At twelve, Sam was on the chubbier side (though Dean will always insist that she's got a damn skewed sense of the word), and she's never been particularly satisfied with how she's looked since. She's been dieting now for years with salads and will only eat about a quarter of the calories a person's supposed to have in a day, but despite that and the fact that she's constantly doing such hardcore physical activity that she didn't even get her period until this past year, she can't seem to drop past that awkward size between a two and a four. She figures out pretty quickly that this sucks, because most of the cute clothes at the thrift shop down the street from the motel are a zero, or way too big at the shoulders. 

Still, she makes it work. 

Back at the motel her brother is waiting for her and sits scowling as he watches her try on everything again, partially doing it as a tease, partially because she's trying to see if she can make herself like the way she looks. They've dropped more than fifty on clothing before and she thinks this is a pretty good supply. "I don't get it," says Dean, leaning back against the pillows and watching her pull on a lacey purple and white camisole that'll look great with the green jacket that used to his. The tight jeans make it work with her Converse, too, which is good because she didn't bother to buy shoes. "You've never done a shopping whatever before."

"Spree, Dean," she says, turning to the side and deciding she's  _tolerable_ , which is better than usual. "It's called a shopping spree."

"Why? You seriously going to wear that on a hunt?"

She rolls her eyes. "We do more than hunt," she points out, and pulls the shirt over head to try the paisley red dress she found hidden in the pants section. As she tugs off her jeans, she adds, "And I don't know, maybe I just feel like being a girl. Don't get me wrong, I got the usual button downs and plaid and I'll wear the old stuff to hunt, but I'm still a high school student."

Now the scowl just deepens, and she realizes she should've worded that better. "Yeah,  _high school_." He says the words like they're a curse and maybe he's right. "It's not like you've got any guys to impress." Then, more hesitant, "Right?"

"Uh, ever hear of a girl wanting to dress pretty for herself?" she says, crossing her arms. "God, you're the only one stupid enough to look at me any -"

"Don't get like that."

"Then you're not allowed to go all misogynistic on my ass." They glare at each other; she gives in first. "But - I guess, if that were true, you like any?"

The scowl quickly turns into a smirk and she knows the argument is over and done with, thank God. "Never wear that black dress when we're around dad," he answers, coming over and wrapping his arms around her from behind, "'cause I'll never be able to keep my hands off you."

She tilts her head back, meets him for a kiss, and can't help but be surprised when the dress doesn't end up ripped coming off.

 

 

The only good thing that comes out of hating her body is that she loses all respect for it; if she has to unbutton the top two buttons of her shirt or wear make-up (which she hates) to tip herself just over the edge of distracting while playing pool for money because she doesn't like fraud, she'll do it. Dean hates it more than she does, anyway. It's easy and it's effective and after all it's just other people digging their own graves.

What other hunters - including women, apparently - don't seem to get is that being underestimated is insulting, yeah, but it has its perks. In this business, being a girl is an asset men can't have. Her brother and dad usually go into a witness situation with fake IDs and intimidation, which gets the job done and she knows one day if she doesn't get out of this nightmare she'll at least be able to play background dressing, but sometimes a less direct approach is needed. The lip-gloss and ballet flats and double braids with a dress and blouse coupled with puppy dog eyes can be much more effective sometimes. Gets hunts done faster so she can get back to her homework. 

Still, Dean doesn't like even that, and she's pretty sure Dad doesn't either but they can deal. She wants these done. She wants to get out. Sure, she's still on the fence because it comes down to  _go to school_ or  _stick here with her brother and make sure his heart is never broken_ and she's leaning towards the latter, but a girl can dream. So she does what she can, and uses whatever she has. Even when that happens to be herself. 

 

 

Three days after her eighteenth birthday, she graduates high school. Despite every guidance counselor of every school she'd been to for the last three years trying to convince her, she hadn't applied to college. She hates hunting and wants out, but she wants Dean more. It's that simple. 

Or at least it was originally. 

Now it's more complicated, Sam shoved in the basement of some abandoned house by a vetala who's already fed off of her twice. The thing sliced at the bottom of her feet and back of her left knee so she can't run, but she's tied up anyway and weak from blood loss and venom. Her clothes are in shreds, too, draping off her body or strewn in little strips around the dirty room, and the cloth in her mouth comes from her own sleeve. All she was wearing was a pair of jeans and flannel like most hunts, too, supposedly going after a couple of ghouls just with Dean while their dad went off on some solo hunt. It'd been fun, actually, until she suggested they split up three days ago. 

Then the monster's back, pressed real close and friendly with fangs protruding like vampires in sad Eighties films that play bad music at weird volumes. "Most of us prefer going after men," it says, fingernails scratching against her hips like it hadn't done worse already and she really wishes she'd gone to college. "Bigger, longer feeding time. But I like little slips of things like you - easier to toss around, pin down. I bet that boy of yours likes it too, doesn't he?" Yeah, actually, Dean  _does_ have a thing for how small she is, and now she's trying to struggle but can't because the venom's running too strong and how is the vetala even getting off on this, she wonders vaguely, fingers where there shouldn't be fingers and mouth nearing her neck. "I can find him when we're done," it's saying, "and show him all the pretty things I've done to you before -"

There's a bang of a gun with a silver bullet, the vetala falling to the side, and Dean is here with Bobby instead of Dad. They're going on about  _Jesus Christ, this is bad_ and  _I'm so fucking sorry, Sammy_ and she passes out before her hands are even untied.

 

 

When they finally get a hold of Dad, Bobby gives him a shotgun to the face for not picking up when his daughter got kidnapped. They don't tell him the truth in its entirety because she's eighteen and her puppy dog eyes can still work wonders, but he knows enough. On a certain level, she wishes he didn't know anything.

She decides to apply for the spring semester of college and Dean helps her with the whole process. They don't really touch - him treating her like glass, her having a panic attack every time someone comes up unannounced behind her - and it's nerve racking but they deal. In November she gets accepted with a full ride to Stanford and in January she has an explosive fight with Dad about protection and running away from family.

Dean drives her to California and helps her move into her room.

 

 

At school she goes back to being...herself. Cute clothes that she's managed to upgrade to real stores because she has a job but no tuition or room and board, actually talking to people (though she lies through her teeth most days). Jessica Moore, her roommate, quickly becomes her best friend, and Dean comes around a lot more than she thought he would. Once she gets familiar enough with the dorm, she's even as comfortable taking off those cute clothes again as she is for trying them on.

Dean spends a lot of times kissing scars. Somehow, her necks ends up off limits anyway.

"What're you going to do?" he asks one day when Jess is home for the weekend because she's one of the few students who live nearby, sheets tangled around them and her curls swallowing the pillow. She's debating on growing it out after years of having it down to her chin. "You know, after this."

When she shrugs, it's not because she doesn't know but because she doesn't want to tell him; deep down she really just wants to get a stable career, a single home, a  _life_ \- and preferably one with him. Which he would never go for. "Thinking of majoring in pre-law," she answers, rubbing her eyes, "so I don't know. Teach or go to law school, I guess."

It's like she's watching him deflate. "So you're not coming back, huh?"

She shakes her head, wishing she could pull the blankets over her head and just disappear. Call do-overs like when she was seven and still didn't know life doesn't give second chances. Not really. "I just can't," she says, the words coming out in a rush. "I mean, it was bad enough before, you know? I've always hated hunting, you know that. But it's just - like - after October...I don't know. That was a little worse than getting tied up by a wraith like when I was a kid. I just don't know if I can get over that."

"So, what? You're just going to keep running away?"

" _Running away?_ " She pushes herself up, staring down at him incredulously. "Going off to college isn't  _running away._  Ever think that maybe I want a normal life that doesn't include getting molested and tortured by a monster in fucking Pittsburg  _when I'm eighteen?_ "

"Yeah, so you've gone and replaced it with this? Are you planning on lying to everyone your whole life, then, Sam?"

He's pissed and she gets it - really, she does - but that doesn't mean he knows what he's talking about. "That's all I ever do anyway," she answers and slips out of bed towards her dress, not wanting to deal with this. "It's always like, say you’re a teenager who got into a car crash and smile your way talking through to the middle aged lady behind the reception desk so you figure out where the town keeps its traffic cams, or flirt with a bunch of guys at a fucking pool table to get money because your brother’s so sick he’s dying and Dad won't pick up his damn phone. I've been tied up three times now, Dean. I've been shot and stabbed and fed from and I made my first kill when I twelve. Tell me, what  _exactly_ am I giving up on?"

His lips are pressed into a thin line. "I don't know," he says, voice calm. "Maybe me?"

Like that, all the anger goes out of her. "Dean, I -"

But he's already putting himself back together to leave. "Save it, Sam."

"I -"

"Just...shut up, okay?" His hand's on the doorknob and behind her eyes burn. "I get it."

Then he leaves, and he doesn't even have the decency to slam the door behind him.

 

 

She meets Brady in a bar six months later because Jess dragged her out and her friend might be completely different, but someone needs to keep an eye on her. Besides, winter break is coming up soon along with the beginning of her very small lease because Becky is practically forcing her to move in with her and her brother in a ridiculously big apartment she can't afford under the grounds that "she needs to get herself out of that environment." She doesn't like charity, so her friend's letting her pay for some of it, but she's just an awkward add on to begin with. 

In a way, Brady is the last good thing Jess does for her.

"Sorry you're the poor roommate," he says when they meet, buying her a drink even though she's underage and hasn't touched alcohol since she and Dean broke up. "How's that working out?"

Before he can actually pay, she slides money over to the bartender. It's been six months. No way is she letting this guy have a chance and after two and a half years with her brother in the most literal sense and a whole eighteen in a familial way, she just doesn't do charming. "I'm moving out," she answers. "So you're the childhood playmate I never got to meet?"

He smiles. "Guilty. I don't get out much."

Neither does she, but she's sure he knows it by this point since it sounds like Jess has been talking about her. And considering the up and down way her friend's been acting lately, she's not sure that's a good thing. "Are you glad you did this time?"

"Depends," he says, leaning against the bar. "What do you say, we go out and you let me buy you dinner?"

"Dinner dates aren't really my thing." Actually, dates in general aren't her thing. When she was fifteen, a kitsune kissed her and a year later she was sleeping with her brother. Doesn't leave room for a lot of typical girlfriend/boyfriend stuff. "Try again."

"A movie? I can be your Knight in Shining Armor on a Thursday night."

She pretends to think on it because honestly, she's just  _bored_ and depressed and so fucking sick of everything right now that she doesn't feel like dealing with a boy but doesn't want to outright turn him down either.  "Knight in Shining Armor?" she repeats, quirking an eyebrow and taking a sip of her drink. "Doesn't that mean you have to prove yourself first?"

"Tell you what," he says, motioning for the bartender, "how about I beat you in darts and you let me bring you out so you can tell me your life story."

"Sounds fair."

The woman behind the bar hands over the darts when asked and Sam trails after Brady to the unoccupied dartboard. A few people glance over at them when he takes one last look at her before aiming and throwing. Pretty good, too - three darts, one even hit the center, and now he's got this little smile of happiness that's pretty cute and she's never seen on anyone before. He hands the darts over, doesn't say she should give up and she respects that.

Three darts, rapid succession. All dead center. The people watching all gape at her, him and Jess included. "Try again next time, sweetheart," she says before grabbing her friend's hand and walking away.

 

 

"Samantha, right?"

First day of her second semester of her second year of college and she's signed up for some Art History I course with no one she knows. Or at least that's what she thought. Seeing that Brady guy again, looking the exact same as last time, wasn't something she expected. "Just Sam," she gets out when he sits down next to her. They haven't seen at each other since the night at the bar. 

It's been a year since she's seen or heard from Dean. 

He smiles and sticks out his hand. "Brady."

They shake. "I remember." A damn art history course, what are the odds? "How was your break?"

With a shrug, he answers, "Uneventful. The internship I wanted fell through. Doesn't end until next Friday."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Yeah, I guess. What about you?"

She glances at the door, wondering when the professor will come in and save her from this awkward conversation because this guy was friends with Jess, too. Jess who dropped out and didn't even give her the heads up. "I moved into an apartment with a couple of friends."

Thankfully, before he can say anything else the professor does enter. Turns out it's one of those drive-by first days, though - go over the syllabus, class introductions, and they're done. Despite it technically only being a freshman level course, she's acutely aware that she's one of three sophomores in here, which means she probably also has the lowest number of credits. Starting out the spring semester really screwed her up. 

Apparently Brady is a theology major. Sam hates irony. 

As the professor releases them, Brady asks, "So do you need me to embarrass myself again or can I bring you out on that date now?"

Almost a year, she reminds herself. Dean walked out that door almost a year ago and that's a long time for the two of them. 

She's starting to think he's never coming back.

"Call me," she answers, and writes her number on his hand.

 

 

"So you started in the spring semester? Did you transfer?"

"No. I took a semester off."

"You can do that with Ivy League? How does that work?"

They reach her door.

"Sorry, Brady," she says, "but you can't get my life story until after the third date."

He gets a stupidly hopeful smile on his face. "We get a second date?"

She leans forward and kisses him. 

 

 

Being happy isn't normal for her and never had been. She was a miserable kid and a difficult teenager; something about her has always felt off. Wrong, somehow. She always felt guilty for dirtying up Dean, but he had his own guilt over corrupting his baby sister so they cancelled each other out. Then there was Dad who never understood why she wanted to stay in one place after all the shit she'd been through, and she might not enjoy hunting but other hunters underestimating her just because she's a woman wore down her pretty quick. Of course, the underestimating thing is also one of the most useful tools she has, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. 

Now with Brady, though? There's just something  _good_ about it, even if she doesn't deserve this and she's probably ruining him, too. But selfishness has always been one of her greatest flaws (note: failures) and she's clinging onto this boy and this normal love and never wants to let go.

On the day they move into their apartment together, he asks, "Who's this?" as he pulls her onto his lap, holding a picture of Dean and her. The photo of her parents is on the bed next to him, and she realizes that they must've fallen out of her wallet. 

It wasn't taken until after they were together on Labor Day weekend. They're on one of Bobby's couches, and she's pretty sure he knew what was going on between the two of them. She's wearing a blue dress, shirt hiked up to bunch at her thighs and Dean's arm is wrapped around her waist, fingers uncomfortably close to the hem. They're both smiling, drinks in her hands, and she remembers they were watching  _Fellowship of the Ring_ for the first time and the air conditioning wasn't working. This was the day before the vetala case, and the closest they got for a long time. 

Reluctantly, she answers, "That's my brother."

" _This_ is Dean?"

A panic starts to build in her chest at the incredulous tone in his voice because she's  _happy_ and this is  _normal_ and not running away but chasing safety. All she wants is to be safe. "Yeah," she says uncertainly. "Why?"

Brady shrugs. "I always thought you'd look more alike."

"We've got the same mouth, basically," she tells him. "Same hair color as kids - yeah, I was practically blonde at one point - and sometimes we have the same eye color."

"Oh."

A moment of silence. They have a lot of these. "Can I have my pictures back now?" she says. "You know me. I don't really like to talk about my family."

"Sorry." He hands them over. 

"It's okay."

He doesn't ask again.

 

 

When she's twenty-two, Sam finds the engagement ring in the top drawer of his dresser while looking for socks. The same night Brady burns to death on the ceiling. 

She wakes up screaming, and dreams this every night for two weeks. 

 

 

At the exact moment Brady joins them in the living room, flicking on the lights, Dean's grinning like an idiot with his hands on her hips. His eyes are scanning her up and down and considering that she's only in a pair of shorts and a sports bra (she told her boyfriend she's been kidnapped to explain away the scars, but he doesn't know the details), it looks really dirty. Needless to say, this basically crashes her excitement at seeing her brother again immediately. 

Also, they both go all alpha male protective the instant they see each other. Not cool. "Sam?" Brady says, looking back and forth between the two of them. Realizing they haven't moved, she backs away. “Is everything okay?”

"Dean," she says instead of answering, "this is my boyfriend. Brady."

"Dean?" Brady repeats. "Your brother Dean?"

Really, she hadn't expected that to make her boyfriend more protective. Dean she gets, but that's just because of who he is. Brady not so much. "Yeah," her brother answers for her. "Sammy's a great kid, ain't she?"

"Don't call me Sammy."

They both ignore her. "Sorry, man," Dean says, "but I've got to borrow your girlfriend here for a bit."

The word  _girlfriend_ sounds like guilt and poison wrapped into one - hers, not his. But, no. She's allowed to make her own choices and steps away from him. "Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of Brady," she tells him, crossing his arms.

A look flickers across her brother's face that means somehow they're screwed. "Okay," he says, squaring himself in the room. "Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

Years later and she's still spiteful apparently, because the word "Dad" hits all her buttons at once. They hadn't left on good terms and Dean  _knows_ this. "He's probably on a Miller Time shift," she answers. "He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

Dean looks down, one eyebrow flicks up, before he meets her eyes and says again, "Dad's on a  _hunting_ trip and he hasn't been home in a few days."

Her world gets drawn in to the size of a pin. 

"Brady, excuse us."

This is the start of the rest of her life.

 

 

Even numb from the shock of watching Brady burn to death on ceiling two days earlier, Sam's OCD kicks in and makes her have to do everything the legal way. Besides, after getting drilled for hours by the cops about what went down in the apartment until she was given the "okay" to skip town because the firemen verified that the fire was just a wire shortage and his family is now suing the landlord, talking to the Stanford staff almost feels cathartic. The school's big, but she had so many credit complications her first two semesters that everyone important knows her relatively well.

"We're very sorry," Mr. Bruner, the chair of the law department who was her professor a year ago, says. "I heard what happened."

"Electricity failure," she says automatically, clutching the sides of her chair. While getting her out of the burning apartment, Dean accidently slammed the two of them against a wall and her whole right side hurts. Wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, she adds, "Um, I'm here because, uh, I have no place to live so...I'm going back with my brother. And Kansas is too far from school, so I - I guess I have to drop out."

His eyebrows go up and his mouth twists down. Pity or sympathy she can't tell and normally she hates both but right now she doesn't care. She can't stay here. First Mom, now Brady? Whatever this is has a thing for her, not her family as a whole. It doesn't take a genius to see that. Dean can at least protect himself; her friends can't. Mr. Bruner tells her, "You don't have to do this."

She shakes her head. "I can't stay."

"No, that's not what I meant," he says. "I've looked over your courses and spoken to your professors. Only one of your classes requires a test for a final. All others are just essays. Most of your homework is reading. And technically you were only in four classes to be a fully matriculated student. If you'd like to withdraw from your calculus course, all your professors said you can email in your final essays. In light of the situation, of course."

Special privilege. She's used to special privileges, has been for years. Normally she goes out and gets them for herself, isn't just handed them for free. Is her boyfriend burning alive getting them for free? Bad wording. Normally she's more articulate. 

This is her last semester. If this hadn't happened, she would've graduated in December and now it looks like she still can. It's what Brady would've wanted, if he wasn't aware it was her fault he was dead. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Maybe Dean will make fun of her. Maybe she doesn't care. What's the quote from  _Slaughterhouse-Five_ again? Oh. "Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts." No wonder it's her brother's favorite.

She thinks about that warm summer night, hit by a blinding curse from a witch, and Dean reading Vonnegut out loud.

"Okay," she says finally and accepts the withdrawal paper he holds out to her for her calculus course. "Should I come back to pick up my diploma in December?"

"On the tenth, yes." He pauses. "You can decide then if you'd like to walk at the end of the year. We can save it."

She repeats, "Okay," but knows she won't. Right now she's tying up loose ends, not coming back.

 

 

Sometimes it scares her how easily she slides from one version of herself to the other. It's like there's a switch inside her and the moment she picks up that diploma after a month of wendigos, vengeful spirits, and a goddamn demon, she goes back to her old self. It almost feels good. 

Or, okay. Not  _almost._ It just does, plain and simple.

When Dean's charm fails on the assistant in the office they need to see Mr. Shoemaker's corpse fails, she takes the lead. "Look," she says, throwing in every ounce of desperation and sweetness into her voice like she used to and leaning forward a little so her hip brushes against the desk, "we  _really_ don't have time to wait, nearing rush hour and all and this is like, thirty-five percent of our grade. I get that technically you aren't supposed to do anything, but c'mon. Just a little?" He looks like he's bending but not quite there yet, so she puts on her best puppy dog eyes. "I'd  _really_ appreciate it."

The guy's eyes stray back from her face to chest and repeat and she can practically feel Dean about to go homicidal. Taking Stanford into account, she hasn't done this in over four years but apparently she can go back into it easy enough. "Fine," the guy says and stands. "But you can't tell anyone."

"Oh, don't worry," she says, smiling brightly and walking up uncomfortably close behind him with her brother uncomfortably close behind her, "we won't. This is seriously great. I hope your girlfriend knows she's lucky to have someone as nice as you."

"I don't have a girlfriend," he says as he opens the locked door, letting them in first and he's not particularly subtle about the way his eyes wander.

Good thing she decided on this shirt last minute instead of her hunting clothes. "Oh, really?" she says. "That's, like, insane. So -"

"Where's the body?" Dean interrupts even though she was about to say the same thing. Assistant Guy takes another look at him as if he finally remembers he's there and his face pales a little. Probably assumes the two of them are dating and she's just an airhead. People tend to be more open around airheads than anyone else. "Because we've got to hurry,  _remember?_ "

She rolls her eyes. "It's called multitasking, sweetheart," she says and watches as the guy peels back the body bag to reveal the dead man. "Oh, yuck."

After they finish up with the body, going so far as to get the police report because he's a complete pushover apparently, Dean pretty much drags her out the building and into the car. "What the hell was that?" he asks as if he's forgotten she's been doing this since she was fucking sixteen.

"Getting us in," she answers, exasperated, as they pull out of the parking lot. "You know, what  _you_ wanted to do?"

"You could've bribed the guy."

"Then you would've told me off for wasting money!"

"Well, it's a hell of a lot better than flirting out way in."

She crosses her arms. "You were right there," she says, "and he's just human. I'm fine, if you haven't noticed."

"You graduated Stanford. Thought that meant you were supposed to be smart."

"I am smart! I got us in, didn't I? Dean, I've been doing this for years."

Even as she says it, his grip gets tighter on the steering wheel. "Just don't be so  _fucking reckless_ next time, okay?"

They don't talk for the rest of the car ride. 

 

 

On normal occasions, back to her old self or not, the last thing she'd want is one of her college friends seeing how close she is to her brother, but right now she doesn't care. When Dean picks her up off the floor, she clings back as hard as she can and doesn't really want to let go.

Reckless, he called it. But it seems like all the bad stuff happens to her when she isn't trying.

He sits her down on the pool table even as she tries to hold on, backs up a little. "It's just me," he says, putting his jacket around her so it dwarfs her considerably smaller body, "okay? Just normal, human me."

"I know," she answers and tries and fails to crack a smile. "Saw you shoot the bastard less than five minutes ago, Dean."

At least this wasn't as bad as last time, and her brother doesn't seem afraid to touch her. The difference between a hour mostly spent fighting and three days. "You're going to be okay, you got that?" he says. "We'll call the police and pin this whole damn thing on fake-me and be out of dodge before the cops even get here, right, Sammy?"

"But we have to help Becky clean up."

"No," her friend cuts in. "Look, guys, I can take care of that. I'll call, I'll clean up. Sam, you should really get to a hospital."

She shakes her head and looks back at Dean. "No hospital?"

"I don't know. You're pretty -"

"No hospital."

With a sigh, he agrees, "No hospital," and must understand the implications: it's not as bad as it looks. She's more shaken up from pinned down by something with her brother's face than anything else. Injuries she can deal with. Everything else is psychological trauma she's not ready to deal with.

Becky says, "Call me." She takes another glance at the body. "Are you sure it's okay to pin this on you?"

"Yeah," Dean answers and picks Sam up again, apparently not willing to let her walk even though she's not some damsel in distress and held her own until about the last fifteen minutes. Blood loss mixed with size difference mixed with...other stuff made that something close to a miracle and though she hasn't been back in the business very long, she knows that four years ago she wouldn't have been able to pull that off. "I'll be considered dead, not at large."

Really, she just doesn't want to deal with this right now and that makes her feel like shit, but whatever, she thinks this counts as a pretty good excuse. By tomorrow morning she'll be fine and most of this is Dean overreacting so it's not on her. Stupid protective older brothers. "Call me," Becky says again. "Promise."

"I promise," she says and she's relatively sure she means it. "Dean, can you put me down?"

"No." She hadn't expected a yes. "We'll shoot you a call tomorrow so keep your phone on."

Inevitably, blood loss makes her pass out not long after and doesn't even get the opportunity to say goodbye to her friend. 

 

 

In the past four months, she's had a shifter feel her up, a religious chick try to kiss her because she thought she was into girls, dealt with a bug curse, witnessed the ghost of her mom save her from a poltergeist, was possessed by a ghost that made her almost shoot her brother, met a girl on the side of the road, and saved her brother less than a day ago from dying of heart failure through the sketchiest faith healer in the world. So screw it, but she's pretty sure this counts as okay.

They've got their shirts over their heads and their jeans shucked off somewhere near the closed motel door and last time she wasn't this chill with touch as quickly, so she's pretty sure this counts as maturing or maybe something more fucked up. At some point between that first kiss still inside the Impala and her bra and underwear ending up on the floor, she's stopped feeling guilty because this is  _Dean_ and he almost  _died_ and she can't stand the thought of living with him dead. He keeps her on top, mostly in control, which is something she's never had before, and she knows it'll flip flop soon because hopefully this isn't a one time thing, but for now she appreciates the sentiment. Everything feels so good too - vivid, like safety and life and love and the promise of  _I'll never leave you._

She wakes up the next morning to find her eyes focusing on the second unused bed. 

 

 

Though she's pretty sure she's not supposed to overhear the voicemail, she pauses and listens anyway. 

"I know you aren't picking up," Dean's saying, which means he's trying to contact Dad, "but if you get this...well, Sammy's a little messed right now. If you've heard about the Bender's case on the news, that was her. There's been other stuff too and she's saying she's fine, but she ain't. If you get this, can you at least call?"

There's a pause, the snap of a phone as it shuts, and a quiet curse.  _She's saying she's fine, but she ain't._  She feels bad because she doesn't need Dad and she doesn't need to worry Dean either. Maybe it would've been better if she just let the man shoot her. Then there was no risk she'd turn out like Matt, and her brother wouldn't have to deal with her anymore.

_She's saying she's fine, but she ain't._

No, she's perfectly all right. 

 

 

When she sees Dad again after Meg Masters sets up that trap and tries to make out with her because what's up with girls forcing themselves on her, it's possibly the tightest she's ever gotten from him. She hugs back just as hard. He doesn't say anything, but she gets the message loud and clear anyway.

 

 

"You were eight, you'd never even been on a hunt before!"

"It was my job to protect you!"

"No, it was Dad's job, we're his kids, and he wasn't there."

The two of them glare at each other from across the room and honestly, she's surprised there hasn't been a punch thrown yet. Usually there is by this point when she starts "insulting" their dad. Really, though, she just doesn't see the hero worship. Dean was eight and she was four and he never should've left them alone to go off on a hunt. Not that young.

Dean says, "This is my fault the thing got away, and I've got to finish it."

She grabs her hoodie off the back off the chair and slips it over her head. "Yeah, we've got to finish it," she says, needing to get out of this room before they do get in a fight because that's the problem with being raised like a little boy instead of a little girl and today's not the day for someone to ask if she's in an abusive relationship, "but it's not your fault. And honestly? Fuck Dad for making you think that it is."

It's satisfying when the door slams behind her.

 

 

They've got the TV on playing some mindfuck movie called  _Sunshine_ and Dean's sitting with his back against the headboard and she's feeling extra touchy today, so she settles herself between his legs. After a moment he wraps his arms around her waist and puts his chin on top of her head. "Don't worry," he says, doing the older brother mind reading thing. "When all this is over we can go back to hunting just the two of us."

Really, as much as they fight, she loves her dad, and he's still basically Dean's favorite person, but they can't keep this up around him. It's like being sixteen all over again -  _don't wear that black dress around Dad because I'll never be able to keep my hands off you_. And she missed him, missed this. Missed the fact that she fought tooth and nail basically as a teenager until she broke through some of Dean's No Chick-Flick Moments exterior and made him cuddly. Not emotional, not talkative about his feelings (though neither is she), but she gave him snuggling skills and she's not giving up on that and sex and unspoken  _I love you_ s caught up in this fucked up relationship the rest of the world would hate them for. She thinks about the shtriga a few weeks ago and the Colt and how nothing's changing this any time soon. 

"Good," she says quietly, picking at a string on his sleeve. "After this is done."

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "After this is done."

They fall asleep like this and it's a good thing their dad decides to knock the next morning.

 

 

Next to Dean, Bobby gives the best hugs. "Hey, kids," he says, backing up. "Long time no see."

"Well, last time you saw Dad, you did chase him away with a shotgun," Sam points out, but there's no hard feelings between the three of them.

"Wasn't extended to you two." He passes them both beers and they lean back against the counter. "I'm supposing this ain't a social call. What type of trouble did he get himself into this time?"

She and Dean exchange a look and she lets her brother explain. Naturally she's the one who met the demon girl on the side of the road. Naturally she's the reason Mom and Brady are dead. All these kids visited exactly six months from their birth. Mom, back in their house when she got rid of poltergeist, said she was sorry. Sam wonders why. It's her who should be apologizing. 

They don't tell any of this to Bobby.

Together, the three of them come up with a plan. She's designated as the one who gets to read off the exorcism, and doesn't mind. At least this is something she can do right. 

 

 

Dean heals miraculously and Sam gets him back to Bobby's, destroyed Impala and parentless. They're orphans now for real and she almost didn't have a brother anymore. Now she can't stop looking at him and he won't look at her.

He's got to grieve eventually, which means she can't. Between the two of them, she's the only one who knows how to adapt.

She just has to show him how.

 

 

Before they finish the horrible clown case and after Dean shuts her down faster than Sam thought possible, Jo comes and talks to her. "So you're a girl," she says, throwing a glance at her mom, "and you hunt."

From what Sam's managed to gather, this girl doesn't. "Yeah," she says, tugging on her shirt to make it fall flat because she's still a mess from the case. "Sucks, too. Why?"

"If it sucks why do you do it?"

Sam shrugs. "Someone has to. I'm taking it you don't."

Her answer is a scowl. "Mom says it isn't safe for a woman to hunt alone," she answers. "'Course, she doesn't believe the misogynistic bullshit about women being worse, but she's not exactly saying it's the same, is she?"

"I don't hunt alone. I have Dean," she points out, glancing at her brother who's talking to Ellen, going to over the details and directions back to Bobby's so they don't hit traffic. "Listen to your mom. Seriously. Men are idiots and jackasses and being a girl can be useful, but  _don't hunt alone._ "

Jo just blinks. "What happened?" she asks, and Sam had hit that awkward middle point between vague enough and blunt enough that she doesn't really consider this nosiness. Plus, she just kind of likes these two and if this woman isn't hunting and doesn't realize what a blessing that is, she might as well get it through her head now that listening to her mom is a good thing.

"Monsters can get just as handsy as humans," she answers, finishing her drink. "Anyone who hunts alone is an idiot because there's always that chance of getting jumped, but take it from someone from personal experience, Jo: don't put yourself through that. If you want to hunt, do it with someone else. Otherwise it's not worth the possibility of getting hurt like that."

Suddenly Dean appears behind her, puts his hand on her shoulder. "Ready to go, kid?" he says, giving her a sloppy smile she hasn't seen in a while and she realized wishes it was caused by anything other than her ridiculously childish fear of clowns. 

"Yeah," she says, standing to follow him. "Great meeting you, Jo."

"You too," the other girl says. "And you, Dean. See you around."

Ellen gives them both hugs goodbye. "Thank you," she whispers in Sam's ear before letting go. 

 

 

Dean has a terrible habit of discrediting her when she can't give a definite reason for why she thinks something - namely, finding another hunter like Gordon Walker creepy and not wanting to be around him, and that these vampires might not be the bad guys this time around. He also has a terrible habit of lashing out more when he's upset, and Dad's death has left him perpetually upset. 

Unfortunately, the hit isn't all that unexpected. She doesn't dodge it. Thank God no one is around to see this. "Hit me all you want," she says, ignoring how bad her cheek hurts. She doesn't know if it would be different if she were a boy, but he doesn't hit her all that often; when he does, it's always painful. "I'm not telling you where that nest is."

He stares her down but she doesn't budge.  "Fine," he says. "It'll just go with Gordon."

All Sam wants is for him to heal.

 

 

"How about we go out to dinner?"

They're driving away from Andy Gallagher and his dead twin. Her head hasn't stopped hurting since her last vision and it's really starting to get to her, leaving her light sensitive and agitated. "Isn't that what we always do?" she says, confused, trying to ignore the pressure in her head. The last thing she wants is food and he should know this. She doesn't like eating. What she needs is sleep. 

But Dean is shaking his head. "No, I mean let's go out," he answers. "Not to a diner. Dinner and a movie."

She stares. " _Christo._ "

Rolling his eyes, he says, "I'm not possessed. Just, how long has it been since I've brought you out like legit? Last time you were eighteen, Sammy."

Yeah. Yeah, she was. Why is he suddenly bringing this up now? It takes a moment for it to click. Oh, she thinks. "Dean, if this is to make up for the freak comment -"

"It's not," he says, but it comes out fast which means it is. "Come on, you saying you don't want to? It doesn't have to be tonight. Actually, it  _isn't_ going to be tonight. You look like you need to sleep for about a thousand years if you ever want to function again."

Right now it's February and if this is really about making this up to her, then the least she do is make it Hell for him. She doesn't want him to feel like he owes her anything, especially considering that she _is_ a freak, plain and simple. Even if she doesn't like it. "Fine," she says, crossing her arms and looking at him evenly. "We're going out three days from now. Tuesday. On Valentine's Day."

After a moment, he says, "You're a bitch."

"Jerk," she answers immediately. "So will you do it? That's my condition for going out."

He doesn't say anything, but she knows she won anyway.

 

 

Horror movies are sort of their thing, so they see this movie called  _The Messenger_ and he brings her out to this Japanese place he found because sushi comes in small portions and he knows she likes that. The movie theater wasn't packed, but the restaurant sure is. They're acting like a couple in public and even though they looking nothing alike, they typically don't do this. 

It feels great.

"We should make this an annual thing," she says, really wondering why they haven't done this earlier and hating that it took a guilt trip for him to get the idea in his head. "You know, do something nice every Valentine's Day."

"You're moving dangerously close to sappy girlfriend levels, Sam," he answers, but there's no heat behind the word. Actually, he's even smiling. They really should've done this earlier.

With a shrug, she says, "Who cares? One day a year. Let's go for stereotypes."

He full on laughs at that. "Yeah, like you can ever pull off stereotypes with incest," he says before his tone turns more serious and he adds, "But if you want an annual thing, we'll make it an annual thing."

She smiles happily and eats a piece of sushi. "I love you," she says, because it feels like the right thing to do. Valentine's Day and all. "You don't have to say it back. Just, you know I do."

Dean's uncomfortable, she can see that instantly, but she doesn't feel bad about it. It's Valentine's Day, they're in a real restaurant. They started sleeping together when she was sixteen. He can take the occasional display of emotion if she feels like it sometimes. "No, it's fine," he answers, adjusting awkwardly in his seat. "I - love you too." There's no  _I guess_ tacked on the end, but she knows he wants there to be. Stupid men and their stupid ideal of emotional restraint.

When she changes the subject to their next hunt, he's noticeably relieved. She's not sure how she feels about that. 

 

 

Apparently Jo decided to pop in to solve this case along with them and, after already getting snagged herself and rescued, thinks it's a great idea to be used as bait. Sam wonders if she realizes what "bait" really is. "No," she says immediately, stopping the other two before an argument can break out. "No way. I'll go get a wig or temporary dye or something if that's the only option. You're not going down there."

Jo crosses her arms, shifts her attention away from Dean. "What, you think I can't do it?" she answers, glaring. "You two have to stop treating me like I'm a kid - Sam, we're the same age."

Yeah, being treated like a kid sucks, but that's not Sam's point and she's pretty sure Jo knows it too. "I'm not saying you don't have the skill set, I'm saying it's your first hunt," she says. "Look, the first vic's hair was bleached. The blonde doesn't have to be natural. I -"

"You're fucking joking, right?" Dean cuts in and okay, she gets already why he's going to protest and she wouldn't have even suggested this if Jo weren't so hell-bent on the idea. "No bait. Period. Jo, my sister's right - it's your first hunt, we've been going on these since we were kids and we're still saying this is a shitty idea. Sam, just...no. There's no way in Hell you can possibly think I'm letting you do this."

She presses her mouth into a line of annoyance. "This can't be any worse than the demon."

"The thing with Meg was an accident," he points out. "Sammy, you're not doing this."

"If you don't want her to do it, then let me do it," says Jo from beside him. "Guys, there's no other way."

Realistically, there probably  _is_ another way if the two of them just gave her a moment to think but this whole hunt has been Jo trying to prove herself, Jo flirting with Dean, Dean trying to say he's taken without actually saying he's taken, and Sam trying to figure out a safe solution.  _Bait_ is the least safe solution in existence. "I'm doing it," she says again, staring at her brother. "I don't want to risk returning to Ellen and saying 'whoops, your daughter's dead' and Dean, we've both done a Hell of a lot worse. You'll get me out. You have every other time, haven't you?"

There's a moment where he does nothing before saying, "We'll go find the nearest pharmacy for that temporary die stuff. See if it's enough to fool Holmes."

"It's just a ghost, Dean."

"Yeah, sure. Just a ghost."

Jo glances between the two of them. "So what, I've got no say?"

Now's not the time for anyone to interrupt them, but Sam tries to keep herself in check. "Not on your first hunt," she says again. "I've got twelve years experience in me, Dean's got fifteen. You might end up being the best hunter in the world, but right now, the fact remains that you've never been on one of these before and this isn't some simple salt n' burn. We're dealing with one seriously pissed off spirit."

"And if you want experience, it makes more sense to help me spring her," Dean adds, thankfully taking her side. "Go for the mileage, not the glory points."

Though the other girl stops arguing, they spend the next few hours in very tense silence. 

 

 

So Dad and Gordon both want her dead and she's immune to a demon virus that wiped almost a whole town off the map. Even when she'd woken up with a ragging hang over and spent the rest of the day fighting against the ghost of a little girl, she'd been ridiculously relieved to hear Dean say he'd kill her if he had to.

But now he's revoking that promise. 

Sometimes she hates it, how stubborn her brother can be.

 

 

For a week, Sam's trapped in her own mind with a demon riding in her skin. Things are hazy, but she remembers  _everything_ because Meg lets her - of everything that's happened to her, this is by far the worst invasion of privacy she's dealt with. But then she's in a devil's trap and Dean starts the exorcism and it hurts and...nothing. The demon blocks out the pain and then she's gone.

Now Dean's injured, though standing, and Bobby's living room is wrecked. A whole piece of what happened is just gone. Confused, she asks, "What'd I miss?"

She doesn't expect the punch and the pain of that makes her aware of every other injury she has on her body. "What the Hell, Sam?"

"I don't know, what was that for?"

He just shakes his head, obviously exasperated. "'What'd I -' Nevermind, let's get you patched up."

Her cheek hurts and she's even more confused than before. 

 

 

 

Her brother can be a selfish bastard. She knew this, yeah, but right now has reached a new low. 

"You  _sold your soul_ , Dean," she says, feeling such a huge surge of anger at this that it almost scares her. "Why the fuck do you expect me to be happy about it?"

"I don't know, maybe because you aren't dead?"

"But now you're going to die!" Her hands shake. "What gave you the right?"

"It's my soul."

"It's my life, and now you're making me live it without you!"

"You can find someone else."

"I don't want anyone else, I want you."

Then she starts crying and he wraps himself around her, face pressed into her hair, and it doesn't matter. Dean's sold his soul, and she only has one year to buy it back.

 

 

They run into Dean's last real hook up before her on a case not long after the deal is made and the kid acts just like him. Inevitably, Lisa knows they're siblings because they recognize each other and she has to stay away so she doesn't come across as a jealous freak. Ruby's timing is almost too perfect. She tries not to think about it.

 

 

The moment Dean had seen the town, he'd wanted her swaddled in about a thousand layers of fabric. Honestly, she'd even been considering it too, but now she's relieved she decided to go with something other than an outfit that looks like it could belong on the cover of a magazine called  _Hunters_   _Weekly._

Smiling at the bartender, embarrassed and a little nervous, she says, "No, look, I just accidently reset my text messages so I lost the one with the address. So I know this is weird, but can you  _please_ tell me where they went like, now-ish? My boyfriend's going to get worried."

The man's eyebrows shoot up in mild surprise. "Your boyfriend?" he repeats. "So you want Casey's address because you three..." He trails off and eyes her body for the first time, earlier barely even looking at her face. 

"Agreed to have a threesome, yes," she snaps, crossing her arms. "You live in a town that's economy is built on gambling, drinking, and prostitution, so don't look at me like  _I'm_ the freak. Now, address?" That's all it take for him to rattle out the whole thing and she rolls her eyes. "Thanks."

"No problem," he answers, cleaning out a glass. "And hey, if you ever want to add a man to the -"

"I'll pass," she says before turning to leave, and she has no idea how badly she just fucked herself over. 

 

 

She stares down at her hands, vision unfocused. "That didn't make any sense," she says, watching Dean finish stitching up the deep gorges in her palms. 

"No, it didn't," he answers, concentrating on not fucking up. "Adrenaline?"

Beheading is hard for her on a normal day against a normal vampire. Neither today nor Gordon Walker are what anyone would consider "normal," and she'd just taken off his head with a piece of metal about the size of a crowbar sharpened on either side. She's not supposed to be that strong. "Maybe." She swallows thickly. "He said the thing about the hostage being turned and I thought you were going to die."

He glances up at her, gives that dumb smile she only has six more months to see. "Hey, promised earlier, remember?" he says. "Not checking out on you before the expiration date."

Yeah, maybe she'd feel better if that expiration date didn't come in less than a year. "I remember," she says, trying to feel her way through the fuzziness caused by the painkillers. "S'not gonna make me worry any less."

"You've officially hit knockout time." He's ignoring her, like usual, and she hadn't even realized he finished bandaging her up. She tries to grab hold of his shirt while he maneuvers her onto her back, but she loses control of her fingers and barely snags the hem. With a sigh of exasperation, he adds, "Fine, I'll stay."

Sometimes it doesn't take words for him to understand. She drops her arm and rolls onto her side, snuggling into the pillow and under the covers she doesn't remember him pulling down. He strips down to his boxers and tucks in behind her.

She tries not to think about how in six months she'll be going to sleep alone.

 

 

"Was that really a dream or just something Jeremy cooked up?"

Neither have said anything in a whole hour and he glances over at her from the driver's seat. She's not facing him, but can see his reflection in the darkness of the car window. "I've never had that dream before," he says again, and his face is impervious. "Sammy, can we  _not_ do your talking thing right now?"

But she really can't help it - the words have been trying to force themselves out since they woke up. "Because when I figure out a way to get you out of this deal," she continues, pretending she hadn't heard his question because he does the same thing to her, "we can do it, you know. Let's face it, Bobby knows -"

"Sam -"

"- and we already use false IDs all the time if you want to go totally official. We can -"

"Sam -"

"- adopt. Not bombard a baby with potential incest complications or demon blood. We could do it, Dean."

He stops looking at her, focusing a little too intensely at the road out the windshield. "We're hunters," he says bluntly. "That ain't happening whether I go to Hell or not."

That's not true, though, and he knows it. Azazel is dead and if they keep Dean out of Hell, then what big thing do they have tying them to this job? They could do whatever they wanted. She's a Stanford graduate, he knows more about cars than most mechanics. They could get false IDs, settle down, get jobs, have a family...

And be miserable. Dean would be  _miserable_ living with her like that, wouldn't he? Just something Jeremy created to get inside their heads - or maybe it's something closer to a nightmare than a dream. Makes more sense for the kid's MO. She'd make a terrible mother anyway, she realizes. She's just got so much wrong with her that she can't even take care of herself let alone another person.

"You're right," she says finally. "We should just - stop talking about this."

She looks out the window and tries not to cry. When he takes her hand in his, the touch is like glass. 

 

 

On the fifty-sixth Tuesday, she puts a gun to her head and pulls the trigger. She tells Dean it's the only way to break the loop he barely even knows exists. But then she wakes up, and she realizes her brother must've shot himself, too.

She doesn't try suicide again. 

 

 

By the last day, she's a wreck and Dean's hallucinating but still holding it together better than she is. "I'll get you out," she says, wishing there was a way to just teleport to New Harmony instead of take the car and waste time. "I swear, I'll get you out."

He's scared even though he's trying not to show it. "It's Hell, Sammy," he says. "That might not be possible."

Keeping him out had to have been possible, just not in a year, and she'll do whatever it takes to get him out. She's a Winchester, "impossible" isn't even part of her vocabulary most days. "It doesn't matter," she insists, sitting closer to him than is probably safe with her seatbelt unbuckled and him hallucinating but driving because he wouldn't let her do it. "I'll get you out, okay? You won't be in Hell forever, I promise. You've got to believe me."

He looks at her as long as he can while driving before shifting his attention back to the road. He answers, "Okay. Okay, I believe you," and she knows he's lying.

 

 

Ruby saves her life. This is how they become actual friends.

They're in some random...somewhere that doesn't seem to be a motel and Sam's head is all fuzzy from the painkillers her friend gave her after that demon stabbed her in the stomach. The whole world's tilting, but Ruby's face is something to focus on. "You're a mess," she's saying, walking around in this new brunette body she stole from the hospital. "When's the last time you've eaten?"

A demon is motherhenning her. In her drugged up state, it takes Sam a moment to process this. "I've been a little preoccupied," she answers, but the words are hard to form (she's been on painkillers before, but never this strong) and Ruby hands her a slice of pizza on a paper plate. A demon is motherhenning her. "I'll be sick if I eat like this."

With a huff, Ruby takes the food away from her and sits down instead. She shifts out of focus for a moment, but it doesn't last long. "You're killing yourself," she says, brushing hair away from Sam's face in a way that's uncomfortably intimate. "If you want to save your brother, you have to stop."

She can't seem to find the words to formulate another answer, Ruby officially too close and getting closer. When she kisses her, Sam freezes up and pushes her off. "What was that for?"

"You're miserable. I thought people liked being distracted when they were miserable."

Before she can say anything, Ruby leans forward and latches on again and Sam's too freaked to so much as move, the painkillers dredging up bad memories and that old fear stopping her from screaming - especially once the hands come in. It isn't until she starts crying that Ruby stops. 

"I - I want to get Dean back," she says by way of explanation even though this isn't the full reason at all. "Sorry, just - feel like I'm cheating, I guess."

Her friend is sympathetic and understanding and three weeks later Sam has to hold back a scream when Ruby pulls her in for a hug. But she hadn't  _meant_ anything by it, just wanted to make her feel better is all, and they make this crazy friendship work. Or at least this is her reasoning, anyway. 

Maybe she's too used to it to care.

 

 

It takes until nighttime for it to really hit her that Dean is back. When she does finally get it through her head, her first response is to sit down and start crying. Again. Her brother quickly takes a seat next to her and she feels awful making him worry already on his first day back from Hell, which is the worst sentence in the world.

"Sorry," she says before he can ask what's the matter, taking a deep breath and trying to stabilize herself. "I just - don't know."

Apparently Hell can make a person touchier because he takes her hand. "Yeah, I figured this would happen," he answers. "Debated on waiting to tell you the whole angel thing until tomorrow."

Yeah, angels and the mysterious yet identified Castiel. Castiel who brought him back when she couldn't even though she promised. Her whole body hurts too, the training from Ruby two days earlier more intense than usual and taking a toll on her body. "No, it's all good," she says, hiccupping on her final word. "I guess I'm just sorry it wasn't me, but at the same time you're back and I can't - I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's fine." He gives her hand a squeeze. "Probably a good thing it turned out this way. Could've gotten hurt if you did it yourself, Sammy."

She turns to look at him, tears still spilling down her space because she's so overwhelmed.  _Could've gotten hurt._ Yeah, she'd acknowledged that. She didn't care if she died in the process. Hell, she would've killed the world or gone downstairs herself if it meant getting him out. "That doesn't make me any less sorry," she tells him, wiping away her tears. "I love you and I was useless."

There's a moment where he doesn't do or say anything before he leans over and kisses the side of her head. "Get some sleep," he says and no matter how many times he doesn't verbalize  _I love you_ back to her, it never stops hurting. Even after returning from Hell. "You look exhausted."

Well, she is exhausted. Has been for four months - drugged on painkillers or alcohol in the beginning, fear and overexertion for the rest of the time. Love and grief and desperation and uselessness is the most dangerous combination in the world. "Stay?" she says, not caring how clingy she sounds because he's back and she loves him with utter completeness. "Please."

He worries his bottom lip and answers, "Okay," even though they both know he probably won't sleep and neither will she.

When his arms end up around her twenty minutes later, she wonders if she's in a coma and this is all a dream.

 

 

"I thought you said you'd stopped."

Even though she knows she shouldn't feel guilty, that it was the only option, she does anyway. "I lost the knife," she says. "I'm sorry, I couldn't see what else to do. But trust me, I  _know_ doing anything else is a bad idea."

Her brother spares her a glance before focusing back on the road. "I don't like the way you said that. Why?"

"Dean, if I die again, you have to promise you'll let me go."

Before she's finished speaking, he's already slammed on the breaks and parked the car in the middle of the street. At least it's a back road and completely deserted or they'd be dead. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" His full attention is focused on her.

She shouldn't have said anything, but she needs him to know. "Uriel decided we needed a chat," she answers, not looking at him. "The moment I stop being useful to Heaven, I'm dead."

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

His face contorts with unveiled anger. "I'm going to kill him. Or fuck it, all -"

"They've got a point."

Sole attention transforms into a full on stare and he says, "You're a fucking idiot, you know that? Killing you for any reason is not okay."

Actually, yeah, it is. "He's got a point," she says. "I'm just the girl with the demon blood, remember? I can exorcise demons with a thought. I was supposed to lead Hell's army. Can't imagine vengeful angels liking that regardless."

Dean derails on a rant about ripping off angel wings and how she doesn't deserve any of this, blood or no blood, and she wishes she'd kept her mouth shut. He's perfect, he can't get it, and that's the problem.

 

 

Demon blood is the ultimate high, she finds out. She knows that even though she needs to kill Lilith, that alone should be enough to make her stop. But for some reason she just keeps coming back for more.

 

 

Apparently a siren pitting them against each other warrants the world's most awkward talk. "I've, uh, known for a while," Bobby says, looking just uncomfortable as they feel. "Just thought you should finally know that."

She and Dean exchange a look. "We figured," her brother answers, running his fingers through his hair. "And, um, we've never done anything at your place."

"In case you were wondering," she adds. "We get it isn't normal."

"Oh, 'course it ain't normal," Bobby says, "but what else in our lives is?"

No one has an answer to that.

 

 

After Chuck and Lilith, Sam is so far from okay it isn't even funny. She shouldn’t really be surprised Dean breaks his rule of No Chick Flick Moments to talk about it.

He does it in the car without pulling over to the side of the road so she has nowhere to run and says, "That was up there in the top ten worst decisions you've ever made, but I don't care about that right now. I know how bad that must've fucked with you."

Right now she's, well, sober, which is probably the best and worst way to deal with this conversation. "There was never a real deal. I know that. I - I just had to play the part, you know?" she answers. "And I'm terrible because I almost -" She takes a deep breath. "I was scared." She doesn't mention Ruby pinning her down less than a year earlier and how that contributed in her freaking out, too.

"You're out, Sammy," Dean says, "and the Impala's demon proof. I'm not letting her do that to you again, you hear? No more of...this."

"What's 'this?'"

"People touching you without your permission."

She really can't believe they're having this talk. It's like the anti-Dean. Without her permission is practically a joke by this point. Sometimes she feels like she doesn't even have total ownership over her own body, which is completely fucked up but true. Without _his_ permission would be a better way to word it. She's his sister, sure, but also his girlfriend, and she might be working hard at being her own person, but that doesn't mean she doesn't still want to be faithful. 

Which is something she kind of sucks at.

Even so, she says, "Okay," and successfully closes the conversation.

 

 

_You're a monster._

_You're a freak._

_Dean will never love you._

_You should give up already._

Sam covers her ears with her hands, but knows that all of it is true. All the voices keep getting louder and she tries not to sob.

The door opening is a blessing she almost doesn't believe.

 

 

Dean stabs through Ruby, killing her in one blow, and Sam prepares herself to be killed too. But then Lucifer's Cage is opening and she instinctively reaches for her brother who reaches back and somehow they end up on a plane.

 

 

For whatever reason, it's always woman.

This time, though, Dean is here and she almost expects him to just let it happen but instead he's there faster than should be possible, pushing her hard out of the way. "Eyes here," he says to Becky Rosen, indicating himself, and doesn't let go of Sam's arm. "What're you going on about?"

Becky looks completely dejected, but is apparently too excited to be here in general, so she rattles off some prophecy. When she's gone, Dean asks Sam, "Hey, remember what we talked about?" and when she doesn't immediately answer, he makes a noise halfway been exasperation and frustration before shoving her relatively roughly on the bed. "I'm calling Bobby."

She hopes he'll get it over with soon. It'll be easier on everyone.

 

 

Though she doesn't get why, he doesn't do it (she listens to the voicemail ten times to remind herself it actually happened and this makes no sense) and they split up. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

But now it's nearly a month later, she's a week from twenty-six, in the bar where she works wearing her uniform dress, and she's being restrained tightly by Steve, already talking about "his turn," while Tim's got himself  _inside_ her. And she's already admitted to starting the Apocalypse, but the tipping point was spitting out their only vial's worth of demon blood, so she's completely not ashamed at her screaming and crying, voice mingling with her boss whose wrist is still handcuffed to the bar just to  _stop._ She tries to kick out but the angle's bad so she can't and oh God, she wants Dean, but she's Lucifer's vessel and spent yesterday trying to killing herself thirteen times because pick a hemisphere will never work and she's too stubborn not to at least attempt. So she can't have Dean but this is horrible and awful and she's not thinking straight so - 

"CASTIEL!"

The name slips out by complete accident though the angel has no reason to care about the girl with the demon blood who started the Apocalypse. Yet he appears a moment later anyway, hand to the back of Tim's head. The men's shouts of "What the fuck!" are overlapped by Cas saying, "Close your eyes, Samantha."

For  _her_ of all people (things), he smites one man, causing her to fall and slam hard against the wooden floor, but must lack the strength to smite the other because he settles for stabbing Steve instead. Her dress is still hiked up, twisted around her waist, and she manages to sit up and fix this with shaking hands. John's fainted from shock, she notices vaguely. "T-thank you," she stutters out. "I'm sorry, I -"

"You have no reason to apologize, Sam," the angel tells her, fingers already to her forehead. "These humans had no right to hurt you."

Next thing she knows she's in Bobby's living room and passes out before she can see his reaction.

 

 

"I'm fine," she says for the thousandth time a week later, staring up at her brother. "Really."

He openly groans. "No," he says. "No, you're not. Try that again when you can stand."

But she  _is_ fine because she has no right to be anything else. She ended the world. "That's not what I mean," she tells him. "You can - be away from me, if you want."

"Why would I want to be away from you?" He seems genuinely bewildered before something in his brain incorrectly clicks. "Jesus Christ, Sammy,  _that's_ what this is about? Look, I'm not going to want to be away from you just because some sick bastards decided to - well. You're not okay."

She meant the voicemail, but that works too because he doesn't need to stick with her out of some sense of duty. "Dean, I'm fine," she tries again. "I get why, so it's okay. They just -"

"Whoa, wait, back up," he interrupts immediately, stopping his pacing so he's directly in front of her. "You get why?"

"I got their friend -"

"Just shut up, Sammy." She instantly quiets, not wanting to piss him off. "This -" He motions to her whole body. "- is not okay. You understand that, right?"

"I ended -"

"No!" He runs his fingers through his hair and her fingers twist in the bed sheets. "Doesn't matter what you did, you don't deserve this. No one deserves this. Shit like this lands a person in Hell, Sam. And I don't care if this is a monster or a human or a goddamn demon - No. Just, no. Got it?"

Then, despite not wanting to say it, she blurts out, "It's been going on since I was eighteen, Dean. There has to be something wrong with me. The vetala, the shifter, Meg possessing me, Ruby, Lil -"

"Ruby? What the -"

She bites her bottom lip. "I - I thought she was my friend," she says, not wanting to talk about this. "She saved my life while you were gone a-and kissed me to make me 'feel better' and never did it again after that but -"

"Didn't stop." She nods. Looks down, away, wishing she hadn't said anything. As if she couldn't get any worse. The tension in Dean's shoulders deflate. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought she was my friend, so I didn't think it was a big deal."

"This makes a lot more sense now." She doesn't say anything and he sighs before adding, "Anyway, Sam...this isn't your fault. None of it. This is your fucking body. You get final say on everything that happens to it - which, for the record, can include me."

Include Dean? He'd never do anything, unless locking her in the panic room counts (which it doesn't). "You've never done anything," she says. "What'd you mean?"

He sticks his hands in his pockets and adjusts the way he's standing, obviously as uncomfortable as she is. "Just, if I ever did anything stupid while I was drunk or something," he answers, "or made you feel like you had to."

Okay, now she's starting to get freaked out. Her brother is  _never_ this open or vulnerable looking and he must really think this is a big deal if he's willing to put aside how much he hates her. Or maybe he thinks this is so vile it cancelled out starting the Apocalypse. Which is didn't. "You haven't," she assures him, crossing her arms. "I think I'm going to try to get some sleep."

"Do you want me to stay?" Normally she has to ask instead of him extending the offer and it might be selfish, but she really does feel like she needs him right now. Dean's always made nightmares easier to handle. "Okay."

Neither of them get any sleep, but it feels good to cling to him through the night anyway.

 

 

As if finding out the Trickster was an angel all along wasn't bad enough, now they're at some stupid book convention with Becky again and half the people pretending to be her are male. This is really very awkward. "We need something to call you," Fake Dean says as they rush downstairs, her having to remind herself that her brother can deal with a couple of ghost children on his own. "What's your name?"

Really, she knows she should lie, but she's more than a little pissed off right now. "Sam," she answers. "Seriously. My name's Samantha Winchester - don't look at me like that, it's not exactly an uncommon name."

"And let me guess," Fake Male Her says. "Your friend's name is really Dean."

"Yup, basically."  Fake Dean rolls his eyes. "You guys  _haven't_ noticed we've spent half the time talking to Chuck, have you?"

Now the two of them exchange a look and she's so annoyed by this whole book situation that she doesn't even care about exposing reality. "W-wait," Fake Her says, looking down at her. "You're joking, right? There's no way any of this can be real."

Almost to the door. "So you get firsthand proof that ghosts exist and you can't believe this?" Neither of them say anything. "Yeah, thought so." And then, because she doesn't want to get too far into the truth, she adds, "We're just the inspiration. It started out as a joke. My brother and I hate it by now. That's why he freaked out on you."

She throws herself against the entrance, but even with the two of them helping her, it doesn't budge. She and Dean should've swapped places, though without ghost control this isn't all that heavy of a door. "Still not sure if I believe you," Fake Dean says, "but if it is, my condolences."

Finally, it starts peeling open. "Awesome," she says. "Civvies first."

They slip through, something upstairs goes wrong, and she gets locked out. With a sigh of annoyance, she runs off to help her brother.

 

 

Suddenly Jo and Ellen are dead and she's met the Devil in person.

She spends the night curled up in bed alone while her brother and Bobby drink away the pain.

 

 

"Sometimes I worry for your mental health," Sam tells her brother, hands still twitching because she's not quite done with detox yet but Dean and Bobby hadn't wanted her in the panic room forever. "I mean, you've been acting weird to me all year but this is a new one."

Dean just sends her that smug smile and takes the turn into the parking lot. "We missed our annual Valentine's Day thing," he says. "Thought I should make it up to you."

Honestly, she's still so shaky she has trouble walking, and that in and of itself should make this a bad idea. "I'm twenty-six," she says bluntly, but follows him out of the car anyway, using the door to keep herself from tipping sideways, "and last I checked, we're in the middle of the Apocalypse. We don't have time for this."

"We can take a break for one day," he points out and falls into step next to her, close enough to catch her if she falls. He should've told her  _before_ they hit Orlando. "Besides, you've been asking to go since you were what, five?"

Five sounds about right. Still, she just broke her promise and drank demon blood again, had to force herself through detox, failed in just about every way possible; spending a day with her brother in Disney World isn't exactly something she deserves. She should have her head buried in a book right now or be huddled back in that panic room, not out having fun in any context. Even so, Dean looks kind of excited himself and she doesn't want to disappoint him, so she says, "Fine. But you know how much this'll cost, right?"

He puts his arm around her shoulders and kisses the side of her head. "Don't worry, Sammy," he says, "I've got it covered."

 

 

Killing Jess takes a lot out of her, and Dean seems to know it too. They drive back to Bobby without detour afterwards and heading somewhere that isn't a motel feels like a relief.

After a while of driving in silence, her brother says, "Stop. This wasn't your fault."

 _Stop_ obviously translates to  _stop thinking_ because he can practically read her mind. Or maybe she's just too predictable. "Okay," she says, not in the mood to argue because it  _is._ If she hadn't thought she could run away by going to Stanford, Brady and Jess would still be alive. Her roommate never would have been possessed. But that's what she does, apparently; she destroys people wherever she goes.

"Sam -"

"I said okay, Dean."

He drops the subject.

 

 

 _This is your fucking body. You get final say on everything that happens to it._  

Right as she falls, Sam thinks it's kind of hilarious that Lucifer of all things needed her consent. 

 

 

When she comes back from fifty years of Hell, everything feels...wrong. She finds out not much time has passed, which means the Cage must move much faster than normal Hell. The first thing she does is find Dean because her emotions might be screwed up and muted, but she  _knows_ that's the right thing. She finds him with Lisa and Ben, though, looking happier than she can remember him being since he sold his soul, and decides to leave him alone. Lucifer was right. He's better off without her.

In the end, Samuel and the others find her instead of the other way around. Whatever pulled him down (which is presumably the same thing that pulled her up) told him to find her. He gives her a choice, too: stick with the family, or go out by herself.

She sticks with the family.

 

 

They're in Bristol, Rhode Island hunting a something and Samuel's finally stopped questioning the way she does things. Which is great, all things considered, because he's been acting like this is so improper. He still doesn't understand the Twenty-First Century all that well. 

Of course, Sam's not into women, but if a woman's into her and the best way to get information out is to flirt, she's willing. This woman has dark brown hair and darker eyes and a husband who's not here. She's really not being much help but outside of the sheriff and his wife, no one really is. Samuel's dealing with them now because they seem to trust talking to a man more, which is nothing but typical, so she's stuck dealing with everyone else. At least no matter how scandalous her family acts like this is, she's still proven herself the best. 

But hey, she stopped the Apocalypse. Christian and Gwen have only been hunting three years, and Samuel's a man out of time.

The woman asks for her number and says they should go for a drink when the case is finished. Sam agrees and gives her a fake one.

 

 

"I wanted my sister! Alive!"

Back together five minutes and he's already pissed. Story of her life. 

 

 

So the intensity of emotions are based in the soul, she's guessing, but most are still brain chemicals. And soulless now or not, they still come up - muted, the negative ones stronger. It's not really a surprise that she's pissed off. 

Things have been tense all day despite the hunt and the general agreement that they're sticking together and all it takes is Dean's question of "What's your problem  _now?_ " for the explosion to hit. 

"You know what?" she answers, turning around the face him. "I remember  _everything_ that went on down there, Dean, same as you. So let's see if you recognize this: waking up, bound and immobile, with your whole body in pain and your mouth gagged, before someone sticks a hand up your chest. I assumed that little talk we had a while back still applied. I had no idea my soul was missing, and I'm pretty sure knocking me out, tying me up, and telling Cas to do that without asking me first counts as 'including you.' So thanks for that, Dean."

His eyes are wide like he's finally making a connection that should've been there immediately. "Fuck, Sam -"

"Save it," she says, and turns to walk away before the arguing can get any worse. 

 

 

After she says she doesn't want her soul, her brother grabs her arm to keep her from leaving. Not tightly or anything, loose enough that she can easily pull away, but this is  _Dean_ so she stops. "Look," he says, leading her back over to the car, "I get where you're coming from. Heaven and Hell agreeing ain't a good thing, but we've proven them both wrong before, right?"

"If you put that thing back in me and I die, that's it," she tells him. "I'm going back to Hell, nothing topside."

He hasn't let go of her yet and they haven't been this touchy since he found out she had no soul. "I'm not doing anything until I know for sure you'll be fine," he says, and she's not sure she believes him. "We'll figure out a way to - I don't know - erase or block the memories or something. If I can do it, will you be okay with getting your soul put back in?"

This is getting a little ridiculous, but really...not feeling and not sleeping is boring. There's close to nothing here and she might not have much of a conscience or compassion, but she doesn't like the idea of her soul stuck down there. Not with Lucifer. "Fine," she answers eventually. Besides, the idea of forgetting all about what happened sounds almost too good to be true. Odds are she'll be soulless forever anyway. "Find a way to erase or block the memories, and you've got full permission to put my soul back in."

The look of relief on his face is almost insulting.

 

 

Less than a week later because Dean moves fast when he finally gets an idea in his head and she's lying down on their bed at Bobby's. Seeing Death standing over her is freaking out even her screwed over mind, but she can deal. "This will be very painful for a moment," he tells her, pulling a dark blotted soul from inside a black bag, "but it will pass." And, as his fingers touch the skin of her stomach and her heart rate jacks, he adds, "Don't scratch the Wall."

She screams the whole way through. Dean doesn't let go of her hand. 

 

 

They haven't been this clingy in years, but after Bobby hugs her it's like Dean can't keep his hands off her, which she supposes makes sense. A year and a half is a huge gap of time all things considered and she feels almost guilty about not remembering anything.

"Feel any better?" Bobby asks her after she finishes her sandwich in his kitchen, sitting on her brother's lap because he pulled her there without shame. It's like he's trying for osmosis or something. The older man doesn't bat an eye.

She smiles, takes a sip of water. "Yeah, a lot," she answers, though normally she has a thing against food and her first instinct wouldn't be to eat. "Thanks."

"It's no trouble," he says, taking a seat across from them. "Just good to see you up and about."

"You were asleep for three days," Dean says, brushing her hair off the back of her neck. It feels shorter than when she fell, but she's so disoriented that she can't be sure. 

The more she finds out, the more she's glad just to be awake. "You're an idiot who broke your promise," she says, because he is, "but thanks. For getting me out."

Dean just smiles, all green eyes and relief. "What? You really think I was going to leave you alone down there?"

No, no she didn't, and he's a fucking idiot but he's her idiot and that's what matters. 

 

 

"So her name is Scarlett Johansson," Sam says as they sit in Jensen Ackles' trailer, trying to figure out what's going on. "Her filmography is a ridiculous and her role in  _Iron Man Two_ is considered 'typecasting' as apparently any remotely badass character she plays will be considered a second Samantha Winchester."

Leaning over her so he can read the screen too, Dean says, "For someone on a long-term TV show, that's a damn impression list of movies, though. Even if the show does suck."

Really, she agrees with her brother; who would want to watch their lives? All they do is argue and get frustrated. "She's also a natural blonde," she adds, pointing to a picture. "Huh. Weird. Anyway, we should figure out how to get back. Do actors stay in their trailers overnight?"

"Guess we should see," he answers, taking control over the computer to open up Google. "If we're not gone by morning, we're going to end up ruining these guys, aren't we?"

"Ackles isn't married and Johansson's divorced," she points out. "God, you realize they're probably back home, right? Because this is her body, not mine."

Dean pulls down his shirt to reveal the anti-possession tattoo. "Just drawn on," he says. "Trust me, I know. And I'm not used to you with make-up. Or me."

Whoever this Scarlett Johansson person is, she must eat more than Sam does because this body's not as thin - and that right there was the first tip off. It's also weird looking down at her arms and seeing no scars. This is almost as bad as Gary. "That Misha person might be useless, but Cas isn't," she says. "He'll look for something on our end if he notices we're missing. And I remember the spell and ingredients. Do you remember the symbol?"

"Yeah, I do. Lamb's blood is going to be a joy to find."

They spend all night huddled in Jensen Ackles trailer, trying to figure this out, and leave the lights on. They don't notice Twitter explode with news of their rekindled friendship.

 

 

Somehow, Sam manages to stay awake until they reach the car. She passes out not long after that. 

When she wakes up later, it takes her a moment to see Bobby's panic room instead of the Cage. She was down here when she woke up from her Wall breaking, too, and figures they must be afraid she'll hurt herself or something. "God, you're finally awake," says Dean from her right side, helping her sit up. "How're you feeling?"

A shake rips through her and she tilts to the side, slouching against him. "Could be better," she manages to get out, voice thin. "Why does my hand hurt?"

"You fell on glass," he answers. "I stitched you up, you should be fine."

"What about Cas?"

Though not much more has developed beyond what little she's seen, he fills her in anyway. Everything's feeling a little hazy now, too bright but too dim at the same time and very loud. Every memory hurts and she has five thousand years' worth stuffed up inside her mind. "Bobby's got an idea," he says when he's done. "I just wanted you awake before we did anything."

"I want to take a shower."

"You sure you're okay with moving?"

She nods. Before she can even make the effort to stand on her own, he picks her up and carries her upstairs. 

 

 

It's a Tuesday, and a hallucination of Lucifer almost has her commit suicide. 

In the car, Dean's got her up against his side, noticeably holding her so she's situated in a way that she really can't hurt herself. Lucifer's silent for once and she knows now that  _this_ is real, that  _this_ is her real brother and she really should've seen it earlier. Her world's loosening up, breathing getting easier. Maybe it's just that she's too tired to think, but for the first time in days she doesn't want to put a gun to her head either.

But it's a Tuesday and that's so typical it hurts. 

 

 

After the incident with the Leviathan turning them into serial killers, Sam and Dean take a drive to a deserted wharf and sit with the legs dangling over the water, sharing a few drinks. While they were holed up in Rufus' cabin they missed their annual Valentine's Day fancy date and now it's mid-March. Part of this sudden, sweet downtime is to make it up to her, she knows, and with her mental state being what it is, it's not like they can go out to a real restaurant or a movie like they normally do (and that hilarious day at Disney in the dead middle of the Apocalypse is something that will never be repeated). This is about the closest thing she can manage. 

Taking a swig of his beer, Dean asks, "Were you able to figure it out it wasn't really me this time?"

 _This time._ She's got her hallucinations under control, but she has her moments. Mostly, though, when Lucifer imitates Dean, she can tell the difference. "Once it started speaking," she answers. "It officially takes more than a face to actually confuse me."

"That's good." They stay silent for a moment and she's really enjoying this warm southern weather. Cold freaks her out and most of their long hunts seem to be up north. Eventually, he says, "We should find a really weird hunt to go on."

She gets her phone out and moves closer so he can see the screen too as she goes through different databases because that actually sounds like a great idea. "This one," she says, clicking on the news article that popped up on the AOL site. "Weird enough for you?"

He takes the phone out of her hand and reads before sending her one of his smiles. "Eat up, Sammy," he says. "Looks like we're going to Lily Dale."

 

 

Bobby's gone, Dean's barely holding it together, and Sam has to hide how often she loses touch with reality.

It's difficult. 

 

 

The moment Sam figures out what Krissy's dad was hunting, she calls up Dean. This kid needs help and she can't do it alone so he's just going to have to pull himself together. He picks up on the second ring. 

"It's a vetala," she tells him after he snaps out his greeting. "I can do it on my own but I'd rather not."

Lucifer is pressed up much too close behind her, mouth near her ear when he says, Poor Sammy Winchester, left alone with her long dead tragedies.

After releasing a shaking breath, Dean says, " _I'm on my way. Don't do anything until I get there, okay?_ "

Old memories, huh, Sam? What are the odds?

No, she thinks. I’m not in the Cage.

"I'll explain to Krissy why backup's necessary."

" _Good girl. See you soon._ "

They hang up. She tries to calm her racing heart. 

 

 

Even with Lucifer a step behind her everywhere she goes and Dean a full eleven inches taller than her, Sam sometimes forgets how small she is. How easily the doctor pins her to the bed without a sedative is a harsh reminder. 

You can't be that surprised, Lucifer is saying, voice overlapping the psychiatrist's. When's the last time you ate? Oh, not since you got here. Dean will be disappointed.

The psychiatrist binds down her hands, which is unnecessary considering how limp she's gone already, all fight bleeding out of her. Of course, the bonds are terrifying and Lucifer's running his fingers gently through her hair but the doctor doesn't draw the connection when she starts crying. Dean  _would_ be disappointed. She's always disappointing him. Should've shot herself when she was told to, back when she had a better excuse.

A nurse she hadn't noticed was there asks, "Should we contact her brother?"

Saint Dean, here to save the day. That book says clinginess is bad.

No real psychiatric book would use the word "clinginess." Lucifer explodes another firecracker. Like they have been since she was young, her tears are silent. All she wants is to struggle against the bindings, but she knows it's useless.

"Yes," the doctor says, glancing at her. "I don't believe she's even hearing us anymore. I'll do it myself."

Then a light explodes of its own accord and the nurse screams.

Sam doesn't even notice.

 

 

Whatever new Wall Cas creates has holes that begin getting...infected within a matter of weeks. She doesn't tell her brother. She also doesn't tell him that something happened in the hospital, something she thought was gone for good.

But it never will be gone, will it? Not really anyway. She doesn't need any hallucinations or real life person telling her that. As long as there's demon blood running through her system, she's cursed. Maybe they'd just been dormant. Maybe seeing Lucifer brought them back. She wonders if there's a way to bleed it out. For Dean's sake, she doesn't try.

 

 

But then Dean's gone along with Cas, and Meg and Kevin have disappeared because of Crowley, and Sam finds herself alone. Her brother must be dead, up in Heaven, and Cas dying must break whatever switch he did because a more mild, obviously fake form of Lucifer for returns. He calls a lot, sometimes using Dean's voice, and she ditches the phones. It seems like a good idea at the time.

For a while, she just sort of wanders. Dean's dead and in the closest thing to paradise there is, so she's not robbing him of that, and Crowley's too good at hiding his captives for her addled brain to find Kevin or even Meg. She drives a lot and hunts, hoping to be killed because she doesn't even want to know what'll happen to her soul if she commits suicide (she's already going to Hell, but she's afraid the extra step could bring her back into the Cage - which Lucifer keeps saying anyway). Unlike her brother, she doesn't have a Lisa to run off to.

Eventually she decides she doesn't care anymore and heads to the cabin where there's no risk of some kid stumbling across her bloody body. Somehow, though, Dean is there and she's sane enough to know he's real. 

Maybe life is finally looking up. 

 

 

Except that it isn't. "You didn't even look for me?" he says, disappointment flitting across his Purgatory hardened face. "Sam, how -"

"I thought you were in Heaven," she answers, still too off kilter to not pull herself back in despite her happiness at finding him alive. "Even I'm not bad enough to take you away from that."

"You at least hunted, right?"

She looks down, focusing on her feet. "Sometimes," she says. "I, uh, ditched the phones, though. That's why you couldn't find me."

He stares at her incredulously. "What -  _why?_ "

"Dean, you just got back. Shouldn't we be focusing on you?"

Naturally, his mouth forms a straight line, attention focused on her already because he's an idiot and she is too. "I've come up with about five of my own reasons and none of them are good," he tells her. "And yeah, I just got back from Purgatory. I want to be wrong."

But he's not. He can't be. Not with something this obvious. Keeping her eyes facing downwards, she answers, "Cas disappearing brought him back. A-and he wouldn't stop calling."

She's immediately crushed into a hug, Dean's face buried in his hair. "I'm really fucking happy I'm back, Sam," he says, voice muffled. "And I'm guessing I should be really fucking happy that you're here too." She doesn't answer right away and he separates them. "How 'bout we check those phones? Might've gotten a real call."

He's being mushy. Really, really mushy and unlike Hell, Purgatory doesn't seem to have turned off his Big Brother radar. She's not sure if she should feel relief or guilt. "I was thinking the same thing," she admits. "And, uh, how'd you get out?"

Then he gets this weird look on his face that means he doesn't want to talk about it. "I'll tell you in the car," he says. "Missed my baby too. And I want some pie."

Oh, okay. Still Dean. She smiles. "Sounds like a plan," she says and hopes that maybe, just maybe she hadn't been wrong.

 

 

"I was in Purgatory," Dean tells Kevin when they meet up. "Sam was injured."

It's an easy enough explanation that she hopes would suffice, but she's not surprised when he wants elaborating. "Remember when you met us and Cas was in the mental hospital?" she answers because she failed him and as much as she hates it, he deserves a little honesty. "Well, a while back he - made me crazy, I guess, and then when he fixed it the result was what you saw. When he and Dean disappeared into Purgatory -"

"It reversed." Sam nods, looking down and wishing Dean would hurry up and come back because Kevin might deserve this honesty but she's scared to give it. "Are you okay to do stuff?"

Valid question, but that doesn't mean she wants to answer. She doesn't want to talk about any of this. She's weak, a failure, and now this poor kid needs to know why he couldn't be saved. "A human's mind and an angel's mind react different," she answers, running her fingers through her hair. "I've got it under control. It's just - easier with a second person. But really, I can't be sorry enough. Dean and I...we both know what you went through. Personally. It isn't pretty. Just tell us whatever you need."

His hand balls into a first, clutching at the fabric of his jeans, but some of that anger has bled out of him. It shouldn't. His girlfriend is died, which means they've already fucked up saving one person close to him. "I want to see my mom," he says.

"Okay." Twenty-nine and the world's biggest failure - always has been, always will be. Here's this kid at eighteen who deserves this bright future, but had it flipped on its axis; she knows the feeling. Stanford or Princeton, it's all the same. At least she had the chance to graduate and how is that fair? "Whatever you need, Kevin."

She spies Dean heading back with food. She offered to do but it he made her stay here with the boy because for the first time ever, this might be someone she "gets" more than him. Purgatory messed him up bad, but on top of Hell that realistically wasn't all that long ago, that's not all that unexpected. 

All she wants is for her older brother to be okay.

To her surprise, Kevin asks, "What did he do to you?"

"What did who do?"

"The angel."

Behind her, Lucifer starts humming an Enochian hymn about justice in Heaven and she wishes she were alone to take care of this. "It wasn't his fault," she answers, and he doesn't ask again.

 

 

Watching the video filmed by a group of kids who basically stalked them shows her how bad she is at hiding the degree to which she's screwed up at the moment, and that it's obvious Dean knows it, too. It's also a good thing they aren't real FBI agents because that "workplace romance vibe" apparently isn't all that subtle either.

On the film, she says, " _I don't think there's a case here, Dean_ ," and her brother answers, " _'Course there is. You're just not used to it anymore, Sammy._ "

Real Dean cringes. "That's not what I meant," he says, voice overlapping the boy behind the camera's. 

"It's fine," she says, because it is. "You're right anyway. When you were - gone, I went for the obvious ones. Easier to figure out by myself."

That's also not what he meant, though. He figured out pretty quickly what her coping method was to deal with the hallucinations when there was no one else around to help her out. And he hadn't liked it. Which is pathetic considering he's the one who taught her to use pain in the first place, but whatever. This is Dean and he's back. If he wants her to stop slicing herself up, she'll stop.

Even if it is leaving her off-kilter. That's what he's really talking about.

"That still made me sound like a dick," he says, and she subconsciously tugs her sleeves over her arms. 

"You always sound like a dick."

He hits the back of her head, affectionate. "Bitch."

" _I think you were right about their office romance_ ," says camera boy.

"Jerk."

 

 

Then suddenly Castiel is back and Dean needs to pull over to the side of the road only two hours after the split because she could unfortunately only hold herself together for so long, clutching her to his chest and saying, "Calm down, Sammy, breathe with me, you've got to stop before you pass out."

It's difficult, though, because she's really happy and relieved that their best friend is back, but it turns out she's not so good with  _touching_ him (or anyone who isn't her brother for that matter, but him specifically and she knows perfectly well why) and he just transported her into someone else's mind. "S-sorry," she says, trying to do what he says. "Guess my crazy didn't like Fred's crazy."

"Look, that was a shitty idea, but you're back now," Dean says calmly, rubbing her back and she feels awful because it's only been a couple of months and they should be focusing on him, not her. She hates this, hates her  _imaginary friend_ that she knows with absolute certainty is fake this time around, and wonders if there's a way to stab a hallucination in the face. All she wants is to be free of her own screwed up brain. Her brother's saying, "You're back and I'm not going to let anything hurt you, okay? No more separating if I can help it."

She nods into his shoulder and clings tighter to the back of his shirt, getting better at syncing her breathing with his instead of hyperventilating. Ever since the incident with the specter and how her seizure kept Dean from trusting her enough to leave her behind so he could go help his nonsensical vampire friend, things between them have been a little tense. Apparently Cas touching her had just been the final straw. 

Dean continues, "We're going back to Rufus' cabin for a few days, got it? Only leaving if something urgent pops up."

"No, Dean, you don't have to -"

"It's happening whether you like it or not," he says, ushering her back into the car now that she's almost completely calmed down. "That hit bizarre levels high enough we deserve a break anyway."

Really, she's just not in the mood to argue and as useless as she feels, a couple days off sounds like a good thing. Lucifer had been gone for a solid two weeks until now (and not just him - she hadn't seen or heard anything at all, and she and Dean even got to act like themselves again) and maybe this can get her mind on track. "Sure," she says, looking down at her lap because right now Lucifer is sitting between her and her brother and she doesn't want to see him even though he's not actually there. "Maybe I just need some sleep."

Dean doesn't answer, just reaching over and putting a hand on the small of her back to ground her, and slowly, she's starting to feel safe. 

 

 

Two days later Sam can't sleep so Dean gives her sleeping pills. She wakes up alone, a letter where his body should be, and it says he got a call from Benny in the middle of the night and didn't want to wake her. Lucifer starts rambling on about how he's replacing her with someone else, so she throws a pillow at his head. 

It smacks against the wall.

 

 

Though the LARP thing is by far the strangest place she's been to in a long time, seeing Charlie again is kind of cool. After the girl stops freaking out and the job is done, she even gives Sam a hug. Surprisingly, she manages not to have a panic attack (though Dean looks ready to jump on her in case one starts). 

Charlie says, "We should stay in touch," as if she hadn't said twenty-four hours earlier that she wanted nothing to do with them. "I need some friends IRL to break the boredom."

Sam and Dean don't really do "friends" but she won't pretend the idea isn't tempting. By this point she's gotten used to the idea that she's too screwed up to have a real connection with anyone outside of her brother and an angel she can't touch and she really doesn't want to fuck up someone else's life, too, but Charlie extended the offer first. "Give me your phone," Dean says, though, which means he isn't entirely opposed to the idea either. That's a good thing, right?

He adds their numbers. "Thanks," she says, slipping it back in the leather pouch that hangs around her hip. "I'll shoot you both a text. Swing by if any monsters land you in Michigan, 'kay?"

"A lot more happens in Michigan than you'd think," Sam says, and it's true. Michigan, Ohio, Kansas, and New York seem to be hotspots. Even though she's not a big fan of the south, she does miss doing cases down there once the temperature drops (except for Florida). "We occasionally have downtime, too."

"Emphasis on occasionally."

They part with her on good terms, which is rare for just about anyone lately, and Sam wonders if this counts as something close to an accomplishment. Lucifer's been silent for three days and she intends to keep it that way.

 

 

As if Samuel weren't bad enough, now they have to deal with Henry too. "You do realize we have the world's most fucked up family history, right?" Dean says while their time travelling grandfather takes a shower. "I mean, this is weird even by our standards. And we've set a pretty high bar."

Yeah, yeah they have. Other hunters have nothing on them when it comes to shit like this. "Don't be so hard on him," she says anyway, glancing at the bathroom and pushing her own wet hair out of her face. Good thing they always get two beds despite sharing one or this could've been a lot more awkward. "The poor guy just landed himself in the future to find out his son is dead."

"I just hate the 'responsibility' bullshit," he answers irritably, passing her another water bottle. "He seems more worried that Dad never got into this Men of Letters secret society thing than he does with what actually happened to his kid."

"You realize there's a possibility that he gets stuck here, don't you?" she says. "He might not even realize yet that he  _needs_ to worry about what happened to Dad."

"Why? We've told him. He knows we're hunters."

"Dean, he might think there's a way to get back and change things."

His brother doesn't answer and downs the rest of his beer. 

 

 

After the initial pain that came with reciting the spell for killing the hellhound, Sam felt fine. It isn't until the next morning that she starts feeling like Hell.

Dean, unfortunately, notices first and shakes her awake. "You've got a fever," he says, and yeah, she can feel immediately that her body temperature has spiked. 

"The first girl who died kept complaining about how she was sick," she lies because it takes her half a second to figure out what this is really from, even half asleep. "Naturally. I kill a fucking hellhound and come down with a cold."

He makes a humming noise in the back of his throat and rolls out of bed. "Well, I think we've both established you've got shit luck." He grabs her Advil. "Does your throat hurt or do you think you can dry swallow?"

"Throat feels fine," she answers, reaching out to accept the two pills. "Wonder how long it's going to take before I get congested."

"Don't jinx yourself," he says. "Might not be that type of cold."

"God, I hope not." She swallows down the Advil, cringing. "Remember when you got sick from that case with the married couple revenge witches?"

With a frown, he says, "Don't remind me," and takes a seat next to her. "It's seven in the morning, go back to sleep."

"I always wake up at seven."

"Go back to sleep, Sammy."

More sleep isn't something she's going to argue seriously against and she goes back to snuggling beneath the covers. Dean's idea to get a memory foam mattress was a stroke of genius and the blankets are all fuzzy and warm courtesy of her tastes. So much better than a motel. "You're bossy," she tells him. "Go away so I don't get you sick."

He smiles, though (he's been doing this a lot lately), and doesn't listen, getting back under the covers with her like they're a normal couple on a normal Sunday morning. "And you're short," he answers. "Now shut up and go the fuck to sleep."

She doesn't need telling twice.

 

 

First Cas was back, and now he's gone again. Meg was back, and now she's dead. Dean was in the dark, and now he knows. 

Two days later she finally manages to sleep and has nightmares of the only good demon getting stabbed.

 

 

Within the first five minutes of talking to Victor, he started to freak her out, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt; Lucifer's been back ever since Meg was killed and it doesn't take much to make her uncomfortable or scare her. Still, that doesn't mean she wants to have a conversation that picks up in the middle with, "Do you want kids?"

We played house in the Cage, Lucifer says, walking his fingers up her spine. How perfect it was until you started screaming for Michael to save you.

So she really hates her hallucination, and the real thing. Sometimes she hates herself more. "Probably not," she answers, sipping her coffee. "Or - not now, anyway. I'm not bringing a kid into this."

"I thought you were brought up in this." She quirks a brow in surprise, though she doesn't know why. By now she's figured out that hunters know more about her and Dean than they have the right to. "Oh, don't look so shocked, Sam," he continues. "Half the older community knows all about you. Your father was famous around the Roadhouse before you two were."

The Roadhouse. And here she is feeling awful that she let Meg die. How backwards is that? "Well, regardless," she says, regaining her composure, "our childhood wasn't fun. No offense, but I'd never raise anyone in this life. Ellen did the right thing with Jo."

Immediately she sees that she  _has_ offended him. On a certain level, she doesn't even care.

 

 

Twenty-four hours in the living world is nearly three months in Hell and Sam's body is still synced to Earth's system. She can also navigate this place pretty well and Bobby's prison opens like it's no big deal at her touch, so she knows they're almost back to Purgatory with a whole month to spare when Bobby makes her take a rest. Which is ridiculous considering he's the one who's dead and psychologically tormented for over a hundred years. 

"I met you when you were two, Sam," he says, forcing her to sit down and taking the knife. "Doesn't matter how long I was done here. You really think I wouldn't notice?"

The corridor of innocent souls must not be such an exciting place for demons because this entire time they've only encountered about a dozen - not even enough to raise an alarm. "It's not that bad," she tells him, and it's true. She's been through worse. Maybe it's the demon blood or something, but Hell isn't really affecting her in anyway other than making Lucifer even more annoying. "Besides, two more right turns and we're off to the magic portal."

She shivers despite the heat and tries to tell herself that the Cage and Hell are different. That she's known all along that Lucifer is fake and just because she's suddenly feeling the temperature drop and his touch feels much more solid doesn't mean he's actually here. Hell's not affecting her much physically, but mind games are still fair game. "How are you even keeping tracking of this place?" Bobby asks, glancing around for any demons. "It's damn maze in here."

She shrugs. "It's not all that hard. I'm just reversing how I came," she answers and ignores Lucifer when he says she was born with a road map in her head. 

 

 

Charlie and Sam go shopping and it's actually kind of awesome. 

Holding up a black and white dress, the other woman asks, "Is this okay?"

Sam shakes her head. "You need something more businesslike," she answers. "Think like what I wore to your LARP." Convincing Dean to let her leave even for this is hard and she knows she'll have to put up a Hell of a fight for him to even consider letting her along for a hunt. Or she could just go herself, beat him there and prove she's good even though she's spent the past week constantly feeling like she's about to pass out. 

"You're like a TV show cop, Sam," Charlie says, putting the dress back and going through the sales rack again. "You always look hot."

She looks down at herself in her plaid shirt, jeans, and Converse that make her look several years younger than twenty-nine. "Hot" isn't exactly a word she'd ever used to describe herself, especially now with the Trial illness taking over her. "Uh, thanks," she says awkwardly, turning her attention to the pile of clearance clothing. "Try this if you can find your size."

It's a pair of brown slacks and they find her size quick enough. "Does  _Dean_ like it?" Charlie says, disappearing into the dressing room.

For a moment, Sam has no idea what she's talking about because what does her brother have to do with anything? And then she realizes that oh god, Chuck didn't skip out on the details. Supposedly that was the reason the fanbase was so small. She feels her face heat up when she says, "Do you really want to talk about this in public?"

There's the sound of a shirt hitting the floor behind the curtain. "Well, just figured you should know I'm chill with it," Charlie says, "since I doubt you hear it all that often."

"No, actually we hear that a lot," she says, hating Chuck more than ever, "but normally not from humans. Did you seriously have to read those books?"

Charlie walks out looking much more professional than before. "I picked them up before I saw you guys the second time," she says. "Didn't even realize it was you two until after the day at the LARP. Is this all right?"

"Perfect," she answers, feeling flustered and embarrassed and wondering why she'd talked Dean into letting her do this.

The other woman positively beams.

 

 

She can see on Dean's face that he knows exactly what that ice bath just did to her, but he doesn't apologize for it. Of course, Dean doesn't apologize for a lot of things, but she must've really, really scared him. It's like when they were three and seven and he couldn't reach Dad who always said no hospitals but she had a temperature of over one o' five and her brother, not even ten, was forced to ask the tenant next door for help. Her name was Mrs. Lawrence and she had fluffy blonde hair styled with too much hairspray and brown eyes and she called 911 for them. Dean thought Dad would be angry.

It was their first scrape with CPS.

Right now he's being as gentle with her as he had been back then, helping her out of her wet clothes and into a dry set with a warmer sweater and toweling off her hair because they can't find a blow dryer anywhere. She's figured out where Metatron is, but he's not taking it fast. "I can go by myself if you want to wait here and get some sleep," he says because he's treating her like a little kid again. They've talked about this more than once and it never seems to stop him. "It's up to you."

She blinks, looks up at him, and swallows down blood that's threatening to come up. It tastes gross. Maybe her senses are heightened or maybe it's always been there and she's just never noticed, but every time she coughs she can tastes sulfur. It's almost like the demon blood is trying to expel itself from her body.

"I want to come," she says, gripping loosely at the hem of his shirt to stop him from leaving with her. "Dean, I'm cold."

"Yeah, Sam. Yeah, I know you are."

Maybe the demon blood  _is_  leaving her body. Maybe the Trials are the cure.

 

 

For a while now, she's known this Trials will be the death of her and hasn't cared, but was still worried about what her dying might do to Dean. But then she hears him say, "If anyone needs a chaperone while doing the heavy lifting, it's Sam," and she realizes he still doesn't trust her.

When she dies, hopefully he'll see it never had to be that way.

 

 

Sam wakes up and Dean pulls over to the side of the road. Before she can even ask what's going on, he's on her, his mouth pressed to her in possibly the most desperate kiss she's gotten she got her soul back. "Don't scare me like that again," he says, pulling back and leaving her in shock. "It's not allowed, got it? You're not allowed."

He looks so damn pleading and afraid and is trying and failing so hard to hide it that her heart just  _breaks_ all over again. She leans forward, reversing his movement, and wraps her arms around him because everything about her is so shaky and uncertain, but she woke up and he's here, which is more than enough for her. "I got it," she mumbles into his shoulder. "I won't, I promise."

"Good," he says, tucking her underneath his chin like he used to do when she was a kid afraid of the nightmares that eventually drove her out of the life. "Just fucking - Because if you ever do that, I'm following you."

This almost gets her to laugh because fuck, isn't that what they always do? "I got it," she repeats. "I meant it. Now, what happened?"

He tells her it's been twenty-four hours and he's been speeding back to Kansas and he's already almost lost her more than once. He doesn't elaborate and something about his story doesn't match up. She decides now's not the time to ask.

 

 

Of all the reactions she expects to get out of Kevin Tran finding her alive without the Gates of Hell closed, a hug isn't one of them. 

"You guys didn't call me," he says when she backs out of the hug. "I thought he didn't make it in time or something."

"I almost didn't," Dean says from above them, coming through the front door with Crowley slung over his shoulders. "So why does this place look like a warzone, kid?"

Ever since she woke up, her back's felt kind of heavy and she's wondering if she hit her shoulder blades harder against the Impala door than she thought. Kevin explains that the bunker shut itself down after all its lights were flashing and how he thought it was the end of the world while Dean gets the place up and running again. Despite the pressure on her back, she's feeling better than she has since the Trials started already and there's something else going on in her head that she can't quite figure out either. Feeling better or not, she still pulled a suicide run less than forty-eight hours ago and Lucifer is  _way_ too quiet for that. 

Unfortunately taking care of Crowley is their top priority, so she decided to figure it out later. 

 

 

"Sam, you go with the kid. Ernie, you come with me."

It's a solid set up; Sam's heading to route the demons and Dean's off to block Abaddon. Normally it would be better for the two to go together, but Erve and this Tracey chick are in way over their heads on this one and she doesn't mind splitting up if she has to. Besides, it means he thinks she's good enough to finally be on her own and she's on board with that. 

That is, until Tracey starts to go on the wrong direction and Sam instinctively touches her back to lead her in the right one only to be pushed away hard at the shoulder. "Don't touch me," the girl says and okay, weird, in a different tone with a  _please_ added on the end that's usually Sam's line. But then she goes, "My parents are dead because of her," and it's the like the whole world shrinks down to nothing. 

"What?"

"I watched a demon slaughter my parents. And the whole time it talked about how it was celebrating." Her eyes sweep Sam's body up and down and really, she's just a kid, mid-twenties at the most, and there's only one direction this can be going on in and it's not good. "Some dumb girl let Lucifer out of his Cage."

Then Dean's there, in between them. "You're coming with me," he says to that poor girl who's just another one whose life she effectively ended. "Erve, go with Sam." He turns and, in a lower tone, asks, "You okay?"

"You mean am I seeing things?" she answers. "No, still gone."

He nods. "Take care of her," he tells Erve, which makes her feel a Hell of a lot worse than she already does, before looking back at the girl and saying, "We're going this way."

They split up, and the weight on her back feels an awful lot like wings.

 

 

Not long after when they're alone, Erve says, "Tracey's parents might've died back then, but she didn't start hunting until about six months ago. Doesn't have the info or the experience. Doesn't really know what finished the thing in the end."

Sometimes it still catches her by surprise the number of hunters who knew she jumped into the Cage and then just sort of accepted that she's back. Dean's always rightfully treated like some sort of hero, but with her it depends. Her being back makes the sacrifice null and void to some hunters and on some days, it does for her too. Except that Lucifer's been silent now for a solid week. "People are allowed to have their opinions," she answers, schooling her expression so how upset she is doesn't show. Bringing that up again right after Dean talked her out of suicide isn't something she expected.

Thankfully Erve gets that she meant that as a conversation ender because he shuts up and lets her do her job. But then he's killed and she really just can't save anyone.

 

 

The next morning she makes Kevin breakfast because Dean is still sleeping. Lately she's been more awake, more alert, in general  _healthier_ and she's enjoying not having Lucifer acting as her shadow. "I'm not as good as him," she tells the kid, dropping the egg sandwich in front of him, "but I lived off of this in Stanford, so this is the one thing I know I can make."

Kevin takes a bite and says it's good before adding, "You went to Stanford?"

"Yeah," she answers. "I have a pre-law degree that I'll never be able to do anything with. You wanted to go to Princeton, right?" He nods, but now the way he's looking at her is leaning a little too close to star struck. "Well, if you've still got your heart set on Ivy League when Dean and I figure out this mess, I can help you with the SATs and I count as an alumni at Stanford, so I could recommend you for there."

"Seriously?" he says. "That's - Jesus. Wow. There's got to be a catch."

She finishes up her own sandwich and takes the seat across from him. "I was raised a hunter, Kevin," she says. "It ended up coming back to bite me pretty bad, but if someone who went to nine different schools a year could make it into college there's no reason you can't."

It's kind of adorable that he peels off the crusts, she notices. "I'd be up for Stanford," he tells her. "Also, anyone ever tell you that you and Dean act like parents?"

"I normally don't get that," she says, surprised. "He does. We get 'old married couple' a lot, though."

"Yeah, about that..." He hesitates, she sees where this is going, and he asks, "Are you two actually...together? Because Crowley said - Wait, you are!" 

Her cheeks are flushed and she didn't even nod to give an answer. "Um, this isn't really a conversation we should be having."

"No," he says quickly, "it's fine. I mean, I'm the only who can read the Word of God besides the dick who wrote it so I've kind of stopped caring about a lot. But this is just funny now because you treat me like your kid and you're together and I'll shut up now."

This is the second human in a row to tell her it's okay and she's pretty sure he hasn't read the books. Then again, being a prophet does mean he's on the angel radar to a point, right? Or was anyway. Oh God. This is beyond uncomfortable. "I actually don't have a response for that," she says because it's true. "Uh. We're not very affectionate so it shouldn't get awkward. How's your sandwich?"

He looks down at his food and she's already asked this question. "It's good," he says, and lets her change the topic back to college. 

Apparently she and Dean have settled down and adopted a kid. The concept is hilarious. 

 

 

They should be looking for Abaddon. They should be hunting down vicious Fallen angels or demons. Instead they're curled up on the couch together with Kevin next to them and Charlie in a separate chair watching  _The Avengers_ where Black Widow is played by some actress named Emily Blunt instead of Scarlett Johansson. The two both know and Sam's pretty much draped over her brother without shame, feeling better than she has in ages despite the random back pains. Dean's rubbing the area absentmindedly now like he knows it aches and she hasn't seen Lucifer in days. For once, she feels happy. 

It's a feeling she can live with.

**Author's Note:**

> The Meg/Sam story will come out after a few more episodes air just so I have more material.


End file.
